


The Guide to Living Through the End of Everything (Or Something Like That)

by Lunar_Resonance



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: F/M, M/M, Mild Graphic Violence, Minor Character Death, Night In The Woods AU, Resbang 2019, Slow Burn, extreme use of sarcasm in wildly inappropriate situations that are occasionally life and death, soul's week of one existential crisis after another essentially
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-15
Updated: 2020-01-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:08:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 103,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22263883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lunar_Resonance/pseuds/Lunar_Resonance
Summary: Three years after leaving his tiny hometown of Shibunsen Springs, Soul returns after dropping out of college to find that much has changed since the shutdown of the town’s mines and the opening of the Gorgon Mart. Now living back at his parents' home, he attempts to mend the relationships he abandoned when he left four years ago, but mostly spends his day aimlessly roaming around, until a gruesome discovery and a mysterious figure that keeps following him causes Soul to stumble onto a terrible secret the town has hidden for decades as well as confront the truths he’s locked away in himself.Based on the video game, Night in the Woods.
Relationships: Black Star/Death the Kid, Maka Albarn/Soul Eater Evans
Comments: 48
Kudos: 71
Collections: Soul Eater Resonance Bang 2019





	1. Bad Things Come in Fours

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Resbang 2019! This story got away from me, clocking in over 100k so I hope you enjoy sarcasm, existential crises, and lots of adventures in the woods. I will link my partners' art on here as soon as they post it. Happy reading!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This lovely title calligraphy art is by Ao3 user HuaFeiHua - thank you again so much for the lovely art!!

_Lesson 1: Expect everything._

* * *

The year Soul’s grandma died, construction began on the highway extension connecting Shibunsen Spings to the sprawling web of concrete and asphalt slowly encroaching upon the entire state. With it would come the flood of oversized superstores and never-ending development of row after row of suburbs until Shibunsen Springs became nothing but concrete and asphalt, too. It was a topic that dominated every other topic in town meetings, even the closing of the mines, considering most of Shibunsen Springs residents’ livelihood was now tied to the local stores and shops, and then rapidly became the only subject discussed in town at all.

Occasionally, Soul would choose to bike down to the edge of the construction site instead of going to homeroom (sometimes with Black Star or Maka, but mostly by himself) and watch the construction workers trucking materials and equipment back and forth, veiled by the forest bordering the town. The swarm of workers flitting between the cement trucks and mixers looked nothing like the apocalypse, which was the view that most of the town had taken on the extension, but then again, his family managed the mall in the neighboring, and much larger, town of Eibon, so his parents didn’t speak of the construction in the same way as the rest of Shibunsen Springs did.

His family’s concern laid with his grandma, the only grandparent Soul had ever known and his favorite person among his extended relatives. She recently moved up from Florida at the insistence of Soul’s father, who was concerned about his eighty year old mother living alone. Instead of taking up her son’s offer to fly her out, Grandma Evans drove the eight hour car trip to Shibunsen Springs in six hours and arrived at their house in a cloud of gravel and dust, the rickety truck bed attached to her decades-old convertible nearly plowing over the family cat in the process.

Equal parts eccentric and proper, she settled into their lives the same way a hurricane made landfall, living on her own schedule, joining the local choir and band, and staying out far longer than Wes or Soul did. She threw a fit whenever Soul’s parents tried to convince her to go out in anything less than her Sunday best and regularly practiced the trumpet at five in the morning, despite being waylaid by the occasional fainting spell and suffering from a perpetual hacking cough. In her closet, she kept a crate of books that were more dust than paper, most of them ghost stories. She often invited Wes or Soul into her room to listen her read in the afternoons, though with Wes commuting to the university in Eibon everyday, it was mostly Soul she looked for until it became a habit for him to visit her room first when he came home from school. Grandma Evans’ voice bordered on abrasive, worn thin from years on the stage, though the way she spoke gave every story the cadence of a song. In the beginning, she read every day, with bright eyes and a dramatic gusto that spun her words into something living and breathing, even on the days when she was continually short of breath.

However, by the end of the school year, her cough started to grow into daily fits of epic proportions. She emerged from them red-faced and winded, beginning to sleep in longer and longer, quietly falling out of the activities and clubs she joined when she first moved in until she rarely went out at all. The number of times she called for Soul or Wes slowly dwindled away into nothing; it wasn’t until just before the end that Soul realized he’d stopped pausing at the top of the stairs to see whether her scratchy voice would follow after him or not.

Still, Grandma Evans insisted to anyone who suggested otherwise that she was at the peak of health, right up until the moment she lost her balance and tumbled down the stairs.

What was meant to be an overnight stay at the hospital for a broken ankle evolved into three days, then a week. Ten days into her visit, the doctor stopped giving a direct answer to Grandma Evans whenever she demanded to know when she’d be released. Two weeks after she was admitted, the doctor gathered Soul’s family in Grandma Evans’ room to announce that the cough that she insisted was nothing more than the result of playing the trumpet for forty years turned out to be what was most likely the final stages of lung failure.

Grandma Evans barely blinked at the announcement. “Trying to escape death is about as productive as squeezing lemonade from rocks.” Her words were muffled by the respirator mask, and her voice was little more than a scraping rasp, but her gaze was sharp and owlish as she looked over at her son. “If you don’t take me out of this place, I’ll be walking home.”

It was only after she attempted to rise from her bed that Soul’s father took her seriously. He convinced her to stay in the hospital for another day while her things were moved from her bedroom upstairs into the office below.

When they arrived home, she insisted on walking from the car into the house on her own, although Wes had to carry the oxygen tank she was connected to up the porch steps. There were bright red patches in her cheeks by the times she made it up the last stair, and her breaths were punctuated with heavy wheezing, but the bright gleam in her eyes was the same that she had when finished playing the last note of a particularly difficult composition.

“I suppose there aren’t many better places to die,” she said matter-of-factly. Soul’s parents blanched at her words, but she only shrugged, causing the mask on her face to tilt lopsided. “What good is there in denying the truth?”

In spite of her apparent acceptance of the inevitable, Grandma Evans tried to live like she wasn’t slowly dying. She no longer went out like before, but she still put on her best outfits to go sit out on the porch, although that stopped when the rain started.

The storm struck nine days after she was released from the hospital, though the clouds had been gathering for nearly a week before the water finally fell; it came down as a steady rainfall at first, but rapidly deepened into a relentless downpour that felt far more insidious. The streets began to overflow and flood after two days of constant rain, but it was the violent rage that accompanied the storm that made people uneasy, even the old-timers who weathered the flood of ‘86. The wind made the cold immediately sink into their bones, catalyzing the flooding streets and sharpening the rain until it felt less like being drenched with water and more like being pelted with tiny knives. On the news, the meteorologist called it “a freak storm” and predicted it would move on or begin to lessen in a few days, though his assurances became feebler and feebler as the rain continued to fall and the damage to the town worsened.

For a week, the more daring of the town residents braved going out into the storm, most of them the owners of the small businesses that lined along the main street of Shibunsen Springs who were resolute in staying open, despite the storm. Black Star made the evening news when he had to be rescued after trying to surf down the length of the town using only a plank of wood and an oar and a particularly violent gust of wind swept him up into a tree. But when a teenage girl drowned in the middle of Hollow Square and the lightning came rolling in, even the most stubborn people in Shibunsen Springs were forced to concede defeat, and the town shut down in a way that had never been seen in its over two hundred years of existence, save for when the mines caved in forty years ago. Construction on the highway extension screeched to a halt, though the bright yellow trucks of workers building the Gorgon Supermart even as the storm worsened.

“This reminds me of hurricane season back in Florida,” Grandma Evans said to Soul shortly after he finished reading aloud the last sentence of _The Tell-tale Heart_ and began searching for another story to read. He didn’t read nearly as well as she did, but he couldn’t stand being stuck in his house and doing nothing while she coughed the last of her life away in her room. “Except we threw parties when the storm hit-it wasn’t all of this doom and gloom.”

Her voice, which had dimmed since she returned from the hospital, was nearly inaudible between the constant thud of the rain outside and the hum of the respirator hooked next to her bed. “It’s a shame your town doesn’t have one of those big siren systems.”

Soul glanced towards the window-it was raining so hard that it was impossible to see more than ten feet outside. “Do you think it will stop soon?”

“Everything gets extinguished or extinguishes itself eventually,” she answered. “Look at me, for example.”

Soul moved his gaze back down to the book, staring at the page without seeing anything. An uncomfortable anxiety swelled up in his chest whenever Grandma Evans spoke about death, especially when he was in her room. It was where the rain was the loudest, where he was overwhelmed by the horror that even the most permanent of things (like her and the drowning town) became temporary, where he couldn’t ignore the voice in the back of his mind that whispered that she was going to be replaced by empty space soon, that she’d be nothing but a ghost in his memories.

And even that, the experiences of her life here and of the summers he spent with her, would fade with time, until there was nothing left, until he was nothing, too.

“You’re supposed to laugh at jokes.” Her voice pulled his eyes back to the bed. If he hadn’t seen the way she’d transformed over the past two weeks, he wouldn’t have believed that the frail old lady lying on the bed, struggling to breathe even with the respirator, was the same Grandma Evans who arrived seven months earlier.

He closed the book. “My laughter is silent.”

“I see you’ve inherited my sense of humor, at least.” She patted the space on the bed by her. “Come sit over here for a moment.”

Thunder rumbled in a low growl above the house as Soul rose from the rocking chair, sharpening into a whiplike crack as he perched on the edge of the bed. Up close, he could see the way she battled to breathe, so he directed his gaze down to the bed, even if it means he’s looking at her hands, which now tremble so much that it’s impossible for her to even hold her trumpet.

A wrinkled finger tapped the back of his hand, breaking the chain of thoughts. “Your grandfather played the piano before he became a miner.”

He lifted his head. Grandma Evans’ stories rarely stretched to the days before she and his grandfather settled in Shibunsen Springs. “Really?”

“When he was building this house, a post fell on his hands and he broke his right hand in four places,” she said after a violent cough. “Never played again, except on special occasions, but I see a bit of his spirit in you when you play.”

For a moment, Soul was quiet. “Did he resent having to go work in the mines?”

“We wouldn’t have had your father if we had both stayed musicians, so I don’t think so.” Her finger tapped against his hand again. “You can’t take what the universe gives or takes away from you too personally.”

“I think it would be easier to turn into a tree.”

She gave a weak chuckle, which soon transformed into another cough. When she caught her breath again, she adjusted the mask of her respirator. “Well, maybe you can take comfort in the fact that bad things come in fours.”

Soul frowned. “I thought bad things come in threes.”

“The fourth often sneaks itself in the aftermath of the first three,” she said. Her fingers wrap around his, and gave a squeeze. “But with this storm, my lungs, and that damned extension, I think it’s safe to say that you’re safe.”

A faint tingling feeling prickled on the nape of Soul’s neck as he nodded, though it wouldn’t be until months later that he realized he signed up for the recital right after Grandma Evans’ death.


	2. Home Again, Night Again

_Lesson 2: Always have a first-aid kit handy._

* * *

A bright light jabs sharply against Soul’s eyelids as a stern voice drills into his head. “Kid.”

“Mlegh.” He swipes the air in a feeble attempt to banish the light, pulling down his hoodie over his eyes.

There’s a brief pause as the light, now dimmed, bleeds through the fabric of his jacket.

“Kid, wake up.” In an unfortunate twist, the voice swells louder instead, and the light bobs angrily in his face as his shoulder is vigorously prodded, while something else attempts to break his iron grip on his hoodie.

Soul and the thing grapple with each other in a spectacularly one-sided fight; his inertia betrays him, however-he lets out a grunt as his hoodie gets pushed back from his face and he finally opens his eyes.

The mustache of the train conductor is quivering as he breathes heavily and takes a step back, light shining dully off the bronze nameplate pinned on his coat pocket, where “Mort” is etched in neat cursive.

“You sleep better than the dead, kid.” There is an unusual squeakiness to the conductor’s voice, like the voices from an antiquated cartoon. The oversized gloves and the black rimmed spectacles he wears adds to the resemblance. “Thought I was going to have to call the mortician again.”

Soul frowns, still adjusting to the mortifying ordeal of being awake. “But I’m twenty one, I stopped seeing my pediatrician ages ago.”

The conductor is unimpressed by his remarkable lack of coherency. He gives the university logo on Soul’s jacket a skeptical look. “Are you sure you’re a college student?”

The fog produced by sleep has dissipated, and his sarcasm returns. “Nah, I’m actually a serial killer pretending to be a college student.” He tacks on a grin that reveals the points of his teeth, but the expression on the conductor’s face remains unfazed.

“I work on public transportation, kid, you’re going to have to try harder than contacts and fake vampire teeth to scare me.” The conductor starts to move down the narrow aisle of the car. “The train is moving onto its next stop soon, so I’d get moving if I were you.”

“Hey!” Bristling, Soul calls after him, giving the conductor’s retreating back the best glare he can manage after nearly three days of sleep deprivation. “This isn’t a costume, my genetics did this to me!”

“Two minutes,” is all the conductor replies, lifting his hand and giving it a waggle similar to the one parade performers give.

Scowling, Soul gets up, stuffs his hands into the pocket of his hoodie, and swears as the corner of something sharp bites into his palm. Running a thumb over his hand, he pulls out his train ticket, which he had stowed away in his pocket at the beginning of the trip. He looks down at it, on the verge of crumpling it up, when he realizes something.

“But I thought this was the last stop,” he says to the conductor, who is now at the other end of the car. “What comes after?”

“Nothing you have to experience yet,” the conductor answers, turning his head to give Soul a sidelong glance. From a distance, the mahogany of the man’s eyes seem nearly as red as his. “As long as you leave before the train starts moving again, that is.”

The car door slides shut behind the conductor with a soft click. Soul stands frozen and watches the door for several seconds before deciding to heed the conductor’s advice. As he scoops up his things, he also decides to file this entire event under things to never mention to another living soul.

* * *

“Wes. This. Is. The. Fifth. Time. I’ve. Called. Pick. Up. The-”

The shrill death knell of his phone as the screen flashes white before going dark informs Soul that it will also be the last time he calls tonight. He stares down at it for a moment as he tries to pretend that his current situation is not his reality.

“I am going to kill you,” he says to the blackened screen, although he’s not sure if he means the phone or Wes.

He continues to glare down at the phone for another few seconds, as if it’ll somehow make it power back on, before he finally relents to reality and shoves the phone in his pocket. Toeing the wheel of his suitcase with his shoe, he leans back against the glass door of the station and stares upward. The sky is starless tonight, barely lit by the washed out crescent of the moon. Cold radiates from the glass, cutting through his clothes like a knife and seeping into his skin. It makes him wish he’d stayed on the train, even though there was a definite possibility he would have ended up murdered. Instead, after his conversation with the conductor, he’d emerged from the train in a tangle of panic and various sized suitcases to find the dilapidated station devoid of a couple critical features, such as a bathroom that wasn’t locked and a vending machine that didn’t jam as soon as it took his only dollar.

His chief issue, however, lay in the fact that the station was also entirely devoid of people, which was problematic since Wes was supposed to meet him at the station and drive them home. The train coming to life behind him served as a temporary distraction, although he’d pretended not to notice the conductor waving through the window as the train slowly rolled away. However, what he had noticed was that the conductor had been true to his word: the electronic banner screwed above the train door had the train’s next destination flashing across it, although even with a clear look at the board, Soul couldn’t remember what it had said. The station lobby’s lights had gone out as the train left the station, plunging him into total darkness and chasing him outside to the tiny awning at the station entrance. There, the tiny hope that Wes was waiting outside was crushed into a fine dust.

For what feels like an eternity, but is closer to a few minutes, Soul contemplates his options, or lack thereof. When it came to concepts like setting an alarm, Wes failed entirely, and judging by the fact that it’s been at least ten minutes since the train left, he had better chances of being beamed home by aliens than his brother suddenly remembering him.

His eyes trail to the forest surrounding the station, then to the floor. Other than making the forty-five minute trek into town, his only option is to lie facedown on the ground and deny reality, a choice that tempts him on a molecular level. It is by far the easiest option, and the one that requires the least amount of energy and effort. However, the ground is hard and cold, which would make sleeping, the best way to escape life, impossible.

It takes another minute to make his decision, though he doesn’t move from the awning right away, standing with his hands stuffed into the pockets of his hoodie while his breath comes out in icy puffs.

“This sucks,” he says to the air finally.

Nothing replies at first as he reluctantly begins to walk; however, he catches something like a whisper scratching at his ears as he crosses the treeline. It disappears when he turns around, though it swells again as soon as he faces forward again.

Soul walks a little faster, and nearly stumbles back as his suitcase catches on an overgrown root, and the smaller suitcase he had perched on it falls, spilling out its contents.

It’s the last straw on a very delicate camel’s back. Aiming a kick at the suitcases, Soul shrugs off his backpack, retrieves the notebook that the university counselor gave him before he dropped out, and dumps the backpack on the ground along with the rest of his things. “Not like I need you and your shitty stuff anyways.”

Throwing insults at inanimate objects is not the lowest he has sunk, but it’s definitely closer to the bottom end of pathetic. He pulls up his hoodie over his head and draws an X with his finger over the university logo he’d doodled earlier on the train as he walks off.

A thick silence permeates through the forest the deeper Soul travels into it. The tiny voice of reason that lives in the back of his mind suggests it would be a better idea to go back and follow the road instead, but listening to logic and being rational are not parts of his personality, while stubbornness and commitment to bad decisions very much is. There is hardly any light filtering down from the moon, turning the forest into a mangled mess of twisted shadows, and making him stumble nearly every other step. Only the vaguest remnants of the path he and the others used to take in the summer when they visited the city remain; in some places, it is nonexistent, erased by the wild undergrowth of the forest.

It’s in one of these areas that Soul loses his way entirely. He doesn’t realize it at first, since the path is so degraded, but after walking with no sign of the path for over fifteen minutes, he comes to the very unfortunate conclusion that he is lost.

It is a truth he doesn’t fully admit to himself; instead, he keeps walking in what he hopes is a straight line. A few minutes later, he’s rewarded for his denial when the outline of the trees ahead of him give way to open space suddenly. He nearly goes sprawling forward as he quickens his step, breaking his fall by face planting into a tree.

A sharp pain just below his right eye followed by the warm trickle of blood tells Soul how close he was to resembling a pirate. The cut doesn’t feel deep, though it’s another complication to add onto a growing pile of problems for someone whose ability to problem solve is exceedingly poor. He picks up his notebook from where it fell and straightens.

“I hope they turn you into toilet paper when they cut you down,” he says to the tree as he rips out a page from the notebook, slaps the paper on his face, holding it there while he walks out of the forest and promptly comes to a stop.

In front of Soul looms a spider web of corroding metal and concrete that used to be the construction zone for the highway extension, the main road only a couple dozen meters ahead. The unfinished tunnel is coated in a heavy layer of dirt and grime, the formerly cleared area surrounding the zone now overtaken by undergrowth and weedy-looking trees. After a moment of hesitation and a wary glance around him, Soul approaches the tunnel that was supposed to be “the first wave of modernization updates to Shibunsen Springs”. Now, the empty silence seems to laugh at the words-there is an eeriness permeating through the abandoned construction zone, the hollowness that follows when a place full of life and energy suddenly has it stripped away.

Soul examines one of the metal beams of the unfinished tunnel, and notes the thick layer of rust that covers the tunnel along with the grime, so it must have been abandoned shortly after he left for college. He steps away and scrutinizes the rest of the area with a frown-everything about the construction zone is completely unlike the last time he saw it four years ago. Back then, there hadn’t been as many workers or nearly as much progress as before the storm, but it’d still had a definite pulse.

His eyes return to the tunnel’s skeleton. Whatever had caused the extension’s untimely demise, the state hadn’t even bothered sending the workers back to clean up their mess, leaving nature to reclaim what it could. In the middle of the night, the metal markers sticking out of the overgrown ground look more like gravestones. The silence suddenly presses down on Soul’s ears, the same way it had when Grandma Evan’s casket was lowered into her grave.

A nauseous feeling rises up in his stomach, settling in his throat. The paper sticking to his face peels away and floats to the ground as he digs around in his pocket, feeling for his pen and digging its point into the tip of his finger until tiny pricks of pain bloom in the corners of his eyes. He opens his notebook and draws a terrible version of the extension’s remains while he waits his apathy to return and the memory to disappear. It is ill-advised to engage in feelings, particularly at night.

Studying his drawing, he looks back up to the tunnel, and a spectacularly bad idea leaps up to the forefront of his mind. He’s already thrown his pen and notebook on the ground and clambered up onto the first rung of the tunnel before his voice of reason can even make an appeal to his more logical side.

The metal beams groan against Soul’s weight and begins to quake slightly as he climbs higher, flakes of rust crumbling underneath his fingertips while the night wind brushes across his skin. He comes to a stop when he’s only a couple rungs from the top, leaning his head on his forearm and breathing heavily. He feels a sheen of sweat on his face, and a sharp pain pricks his side from exerting more physical effort than he ever did in his two years of high school P.E.

Raising his head, he moves like a newborn kitten taking its first steps as he climbs up the last rungs. For a moment, he balances there on all fours, and then he swings his legs over the metal beam; he feels it move under his fingers as he perches onto the beam and waits to see if it will continue to hold his weight. When he doesn’t feel himself falling to his death, he deems the move a good decision.

Splaying his fingers across the width of the beam, Soul turns his gaze around him. The tunnel can’t be more than twenty feet above the ground, but it clears over the tops of the surrounding trees and it feels like he’s in an entirely new world. The dark of the night has morphed the trees into looming shadows and the breeze ripples through the treetops, making them sway, like he’s stuck in the middle of a horde of slumbering giants. In the distance, tiny pinpricks of light mark Shibunsen Springs.

For a few moments, he sits perfectly still as he watches the forest and sky, which is exactly how long it takes for the familiar itch of boredom to begin to scratch and crawl underneath his skin. Drumming his fingers against the metal, he entertains himself for a minute with the hollow echoes the beam makes while he looks around, his gaze coming to a rest on the beams spaced out like monkey bars in front of him.

Briefly, he considers the twenty foot drop and the metal stakes below, but another glance at the bar just in front of him kills the attempt his withering self-preservation has made to keep him alive. The bar groans as he wraps his hands around it, slides off the beam, and lets himself dangle; he makes it two bars in, which is the approximate time that his adrenaline runs out and he is reminded of the unfortunate fact that he has no upper body strength.

Immediately, as if his own body is conspiring against him, his palms begin to go sweaty and his arms are hit by a sharp ache. Gritting his teeth, he digs into his grip on the bar and swings his legs to gain some momentum, releasing one hand’s hold on the bar and reaching for the next before he can think. Miraculously, he grabs the beam on the first try, although his other hand does not follow suit, which nearly breaks his grip on both bars.

In desperation, he kicks his legs upward and manages to hook his feet around the beam in front of him, which forces the arm stretched back to let go. A swooping sensation sweeps through his stomach as he nearly flips upside down, getting a glimpse of the ground and the metal stakes below.

With a force that belies his inability to do a pull-up without being propped up, he heaves himself up with his legs and the hand still gripping the bar, managing to lock his other hand around the edge. The corners of the beam bite painfully into his palms as he pushes hard against the bar with his feet and wrenches his body through the gap between the bars, knocking his head into one of the bars in the process.

His arms and legs bang against the sides of the bars as he scrambles on top of them, sending metallic echoes into the forest. He lets out a grunt as he stretches out across the bars and flips on his back, chest heaving up and down as he stares up at the sky and gulps down breath after breath.

There are a few stars out now, and they all seem to mock him, squinting down silently as they witness the aftermath of his stupidity. It’s not one of the worst moments of idiocy he’s ever experienced, but it’s by far the most physically exerting one. As he finally catches his breath and sits up, he vows to himself to never again engage in something that requires him to exert more force than he ever has in his entire life. He rubs his aching palms, trying to quash the trembling of his fingers as he contemplates whether he should continue forward over the bars or if he should turn tail and crawl back when he hears it.

The sound comes from between the trees, coming from the edge of the forest closest to Soul. It isn’t the wind rustling through the trees or an animal, even though there is something alive about it. There’s an unearthliness to the sound, reverberating in his bones instead of his ears, yet it pricks him with a vague familiarity. The noise sounds again, though this time it’s accompanied by another noise that almost sounds like a footstep.

Soul’s heart picks up speed, and he strains to see into the trees, though he can make out nothing. A long pause follows after the sound dies away; everything in the clearing is completely still as he listens hard to the silence. For a moment, he thinks that he misheard when he hears the distinct sound of someone moving below him. Soul moves to look down so quickly he nearly loses his balance, catching himself on the beam as he gets a glimpse of a shadow moving directly beneath the tunnel.

“Who’s there?” He means for his words to come out strong and imposing, but instead they come out in a squeaky tone that betrays his panic.

He is answered by the shrill shriek of a siren. Light floods the tunnel, revealing nothing but fleeing shadows, as a police car pulls into the clearing, its blazing headlights nearly blinding Soul.

There’s the sound of the car door opening as Soul’s eyes struggle to adjust to the light. A very familiar voice drifts up to him as he makes out the black eyepatch covering the officer’s left eye. “Soul Evans?”

“Hey, Aunt Marie.” Marie Mjolnir, Shibunsen Springs’ version of a functioning police force, had no blood relation to his family whatsoever, but Soul (and Black Star) had been in the back of her police car so many times that calling her “Officer Mjolnir” eventually morphed into “Aunt Marie”.

He gives her a wave and tries to sound casual, as if he isn’t sitting on a metal deathtrap twenty feet above her and his heart isn’t stuck somewhere in this throat. “How are you?”

She splutters as she runs to stand underneath, gesturing frantically for him to come down. “What are you doing up there?”

Even in life or death situations, his reflex for sarcasm remains unparalleled. “I was thinking of living here, actually.”

“Get down from there right now.” Now that she’s closer, he can see the concerned frown that she usually wears whenever she sees him. “It’s a miracle that the tunnel even supported your weight in the first place.”

“There’s no such thing as a miracle,” he says. “I just have a strong tendency to be lucky.”

“If you don’t get down in three seconds-”

“You’ll come get me?”

She gives him the well-worn look of someone who has dealt with too much nonsense from too many people. “Soul.”

“Fine.” In spite of the fact that she had put him in handcuffs last time they interacted, he actually likes Marie, though he doubts that she feels the same way. He climbs over the bars carefully, trying to ignore the growing bruises on his palms and knees.

When he finally makes it to the bottom, she is waiting with her arms crossed, the frown on her face now accompanied by the slow shake of her head that she gives to show her disappointment.

He pretends he doesn’t notice. “Do you make it a habit to patrol random places in the woods instead of town?” he asks as he picks up his notebook to hide how heavily he’s breathing.

“A lot of kids think it’s fun to sneak out to the tunnel and either vandalize it or be stupidly reckless and try to climb to the very top.” She puts a heavy emphasis on the last part, the strange golden iris of her right eye drilling into him. “Most fall halfway up.”

“Sounds like those people just aren’t as lucky as me.”

Her voice takes on the dull edge of someone trying to keep her patience. “I can see that you are still making the same kinds of life choices.”

“That’s just the professional way of calling me stupid.” She’s standing right in front of the place where he saw the shadow, and he tries to shift his gaze around her without moving or Marie noticing.

Marie sighs. “Soul-” She pauses in the middle of her sentence, the annoyance in her voice fading. “What are you looking at?”

“I-” He fumbles for an answer while he silently curses himself; out of the few strong points he possesses, the ability to be subtle is not one of them. “Nothing.”

The look on her face tells him that she doesn’t believe him, but she doesn’t call him out on it. Instead, she uncrosses her arms and tilts her head to one side. “What are you doing here, Soul?”

The night’s events are finally catching up with him, so he bites back the sarcastic one-liner. “I came home and Wes was supposed to pick me up from the train station,” he replies. “I thought my parents might remember, but obviously that didn’t happen.”

An awkwardness replaces Marie’s exasperated expression. “Your parents are working the night shifts at Gorgon’s supermarket, so they’ve left managing the mall to Wes,” she says. “He works all day so he’s probably sleeping like the dead right now.”

He frowns. “I thought Wes was going to school, too.”

“Well, he tried to balance both for a while, but he dropped out after about a month.” Marie’s voice is overflowing with the intense embarrassment of having to share something that wasn’t hers to share.

“Oh.” The word falls from Soul’s mouth like a stone, while an odd deflating feeling sinks from his chest into his stomach. The last time he had a conversation longer than thirty seconds with his brother had been around finals week last year-Wes hadn’t been able to shut up about his work for his master’s thesis, so he must have quit school shortly after.

Seeing sympathy on Marie’s face is worse than anger or disappointment. Underneath his skin, a sharp prickly feeling begins to crawl up and down his veins. He searches for something to say to keep it from spreading. “Then I guess it’s a good thing I dropped out of college then.”

“You dropped out?” Marie’s tone turns incredulous; she stares at him in shock for a moment. “Do your parents know?”

He shrugs. “It’s kind of hard to announce I’m coming home without them knowing.”

Marie gives him another long look. Then, she reaches in her pocket and hands Soul a band-aid. “For your face.”

“Thanks.” The outside of the band-aid is a neon yellow and covered in rainbow-colored unicorns. It matches the night’s absurdity, and he slaps it on without much care. “How do I look?”

“Wonderful.” Marie walking back to the patrol car. “Let me take you home.”

* * *

The clock on the dashboard reads well past midnight by the time Marie pulls into the driveway of Soul’s house. He squints at it through the darkness-even though he’s been gone for nearly four years, the house looks exactly the same to him, white paint accented by the atrocious orange Soul’s father picked for the window sills when they remodeled the house. The only sign that time has passed is the absence of Wes’s car, usually parked neatly on the right side of the driveway.

“Now that you’re back in town, I don’t expect to see you in the back of this car,” says Marie as she shifts the car into park and gives Soul a look out of the corner of her eye. “Right?”

He opens the door. “College made me a model citizen.”

She raises an eyebrow skeptically.

“It’s true,” he insists. “I had ten free counseling sessions.” He stretches out his arms, as if he’s presenting himself onstage. “It’s like I’m a new person.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it.” Marie shakes her head, although there is a trace of amusement in her voice. “Go easy on your parents and brother.”

Soul swings his legs out and straightens, crouching down to give Marie a mock salute. “I make no such promises.”

As he approaches the house, its appearance shifts and changes, like a mirage. Up close, the cracks in the house’s stucco and its faded color are evident, along with the yellowing leaves of the dying plants drooping in the planters lining the house. There is an air of accidental neglect surrounding the property, one he can hear in the creak of the steps leading up to the porch, which he’d never heard make so much as a whisper before he left. The paint on the front door is peeling, curls of dried paint dusting the welcome mat.

He almost knocks on the door before he remembers this is his house. The door knob resists in his hand, but gives way after a moment. The smell of the house as Soul steps into the tiny foyer is surprisingly the same, an overpowering citrus scent from the fragrance candles his mother insists on having in every room. All of the lights are out, which either means Wes forgot about him entirely and went out or fell asleep, like Marie said.

A frenzied rush of footsteps sounding from the living room nearly makes him jump a foot into the air. He stumbles and crashes back into the door; in the next instant, Wes emerges from the dark, wielding an umbrella in one hand and a TV remote in another. There’s stubble dotting his face and his hair is more unkempt than Soul has ever seen it.

His eyes search wildly before falling on Soul, then his mouth drops open and his arms fall to his side, the umbrella dropping onto the floor with a clatter.

They both stare at each other in silence for a long moment.

Finally, Wes speaks. “Shit.”


	3. The Wind Falls in Like Stones

_Lesson 3: Never expect anything to stay the same._

* * *

The wall of black blood is nearly at Soul’s neck when his alarm goes off, blaring in his ears while sharp rays of morning light stabbing at his eyelids. Throwing up a middle finger to the sun, he reaches over to slap the alarm off with his eyes still closed, misses, and nearly falls over the side of the bed. Narrowly, he catches himself and flops back on his bed, rubbing his eyes with his knuckles. After another moment, he finally opens them and blinks up at the ceiling rafters in confusion for a few seconds until he remembers he’s not in college anymore.

His alarm is still shrieking from the nightstand; he reaches over again to silence the phone, this time with more success. Yawning, he picks up the phone and scrolls through to delete the alarm. It’d been for a morning class he had never gone to, but the thought had been there, but now he no longer has to worry about that class, or any of his other classes.

For a moment, he contemplates what exactly he should do for the day, pushing down the nightmare to the place where he buries things he doesn’t want to think about. If he were still at college, the answer would have been obvious, but now that he’s home, the list of ways he can waste his time is more extensive. He checks the time on his phone-it’s only been seven hours since Wes nearly clobbered him with an umbrella. It’s tempting to haul the covers back over his head and sleep for another ten hours, but that would most likely result in being pulled back into the nightmare his alarm interrupted.

Left with no other choice, Soul sits up, sweeping his hair out of his face. His room has remained more or less how he left it-the walls are still covered with his posters and there’s even a couple of shirts draped over his desk chair. The only changes he can spot are the freshly vacuumed floor and the addition of his mother’s yoga mat, which is neatly rolled up in one corner of his room.

It’s slightly disconcerting in a way he can’t quite articulate, although he forgets about the feeling entirely as soon as his gaze falls on his computer.

“Sweetie!” Springing up and out of the bed, he strides to his desk and slides into his chair. He runs a hand over the keyboard, which he’d painted to look like piano keys on an impulse, brushing off the dust from the keys and pushing the power button. “Hello again.”

He settles back in his chair as the computer hums to life. Admittedly, he’d complained loudly four years ago when it turned out that Wes would be getting a laptop while Soul inherited their parents’ old desktop computer, but the dinosaur had grown on him, especially once it started working like new after a week of Black Star’s boyfriend working on it. The computer was what he missed most when he went away to college, his bed following right after.

The terrible cover art he made for his high school band greets Soul as the computer blinks awake. “Chain Resonance”, emblazoned in all-caps and graffiti style, takes up half of the screen, while their logos fill the bottom half. While Kid’s logo, a precisely drawn skull face with golden eyes, is passable, Maka’s interpretation of an angel is abstract at best and tacky at worst. Although it’s the grinning jack-o-lantern face Soul used for his icon and Black Star’s signature (which consisted of the word “black” with a garish-looking star in the middle) that tip the cover art well into high school cringe.

It also brings up a store of memories, most of them inconvenient, that Soul bats down like a whack-a-mole game as he navigates his cursor down to the tiny icon situated in the bottom right corner of the screen.

“Fool!” Excalibur trills in a high-pitched voice as the tiny figure shakes its cane at him. “Fool!”

Soul gives a low snort as he adjusts the volume settings, and clicks on Excalibur again, the creature’s voice coming out as a much more acceptable boom. Excalibur was the product that came from merging the forest cryptid legend with the absurd town myth that King Arthur’s sword had been moved out of England and now existed somewhere in the woods surrounding Shibunsen Springs. At first, Excalibur had been much more fearsome, although the creature now resembled an awkward mix of a rabbit and anteater dressed in a fancy jacket and top hat, and was now utilized as a weapon to annoy virtually every authority figure in Shibunsen Springs.

After a minute of clicking relentlessly on Excalibur, he stops and finally turns his attention to the real reason he powered on the computer. The blue icon for Skype sits at the top of the screen, its serene blue nagging at him.

His cursor hovers over the icon. If he thinks about it, to reconnect with everyone the way he is currently is a tremendously bad idea, but thinking through his decisions has never been a strong point, so he shrugs his thoughts away and clicks.

There are four people in Soul’s contact list, the same number he had when he logged out of Skype three years ago. He’s surprised by it, honestly, since he knows Maka doesn’t like to leave loose ends on dead relationships. The tiny circle next to her name is green, along with Black Star’s, while both Jackie and Kid are offline. For an instant, he lets his cursor hover over her name, but seeing as he isn’t interested in dying today, he lets the impulse pass for once and clicks on the name below hers.

This_is_fine.jpg: hey

Almost immediately, typing bubbles appear on Black Star’s side, although a minute passes before he sends his reply.

Ninjagod420: dude!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

This_is_fine.jpg: want to add a few more exclamation points holy fuck dude

Ninjagod420: DUDE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

This_is_fine.jpg: that’s very mature

Ninjagod420: DUDE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

This_is_fine.jpg: holy shit

Ninjagod420: >:D

This_is_fine.jpg: no exclamation points there that’s a step

Ninjagod420: i can bring them back if u want

This_is_fine.jpg: no thanks

This_is_fine.jpg: so what’s up

Ninjagod420: what’s up???? that’s all u say after vanishing???

This_is_fine.jpg: i went to college not the end of the world

Ninjagod420: u mean u completely abandoned ur bEST friend!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!1

This_is_fine.jpg: and now we’re back to exclamation marks

Ninjagod420: im being serious dude :(

Ninjagod420: u didn’t even tell me u were leaving!!!!

This_is_fine.jpg: to be fair i didn’t tell anyone

Ninjagod420: thats not fair thats worse

This_is_fine.jpg: ok maybe you have a point there

Ninjagod420: i always do

This_is_fine.jpg: i am sorry about that

This_is_fine.jpg: really

This_is_fine.jpg: if i treat you to shakes from shake shack will you forgive me?

Ninjagod420: life update number one college boy: i work at shake shack

Ninjagod420: wait how are you going to treat me if you’re in another city

This_is_fine.jpg: firstly congrats and secondly it’s actually college dropout so

This_is_fine.jpg: i’ve kinda returned home????

Ninjagod420: DUDE!!!!!!!!!!!!!

This_is_fine.jpg: i thought we had progressed from this

Ninjagod420: YOU SHOULD HAVE OPENED WITH THAT

This_is_fine.jpg: i thought i’d ease my way into it

Ninjagod420: IM NOT TALKING TO YOU ON HERE IF I CAN SEE YOU IN PERSON

This_is_fine.jpg: wait im still in my pajamas

Ninjagod420: NOPE DONT CARE

Ninjagod420: SLAP ON A JACKET AND GET UR ASS DOWN TO SHAKE SHACK OR ILL COME TO UR HOUSE AND KICK UR ASS WHEN MY SHIFT ENDS

This_is_fine.jpg: that’s a little harsh isnt it

Ninjagod420: THATS LIFE DUDE

Ninjagod420: ★★★ OUT

With that, the green bubble next to Black Star’s name turns red, leaving Soul’s head buzzing with something akin to whiplash. There is exactly nothing surprising by Black Star’s reaction, but he’d forgotten how much energy Black Star possessed, even from a distance.

Pushing his chair away from the desk, he looks down at himself and gives his shirt a sniff. He’d lied when he said he was in his pajamas, although given that his clothes are actually from two days ago, his nose and the rest of his body is begging him for a shower.

Before he gets up, he glances at the computer screen-Maka is now offline too, although it’s just a coincidence, or so he tells himself.

His closet is still filled with his old clothes, save for the ones in his baggage now lying somewhere in the woods. He rips a shirt that he got from his last Harvest Fest, along with the pair of frayed pants that his mother hates, and heads out of the room and into the hallway.

The door to his parents’ room is closed as he passes by, though he can hear the sounds of snoring and breathing beyond it. For some reason, it brings back the dream of the black blood, almost successfully repressed, to the forefront of his mind. He doesn’t look at his reflection as he enters the bathroom and goes directly to the bathtub, twisting the faucet as far as it will go. He fights back a wince as he steps into the shower and the burning water hits his skin. Dr. Stein probably would not approve of his methods to banish unwanted thoughts, but his notebook is in his room, so he has to make do with what he has.

When he exits the shower, his skin is tingling painfully, but the dream is gone. He dresses quickly, running his fingers through his hair a few times in lieu of hair gel, only giving himself a cursory glance before he yanks open the bathroom door and nearly slams into Wes.

“Hey!” He catches himself on the door jamb, scowling up at his brother. “Stalk much?”

Wes puts a finger to his lips, mouthing “sorry”, before gesturing towards their parents’ room and then to the stairs. In response, Soul slouches and nods, following Wes as they head downstairs. His brother leads him into the kitchen, where a full breakfast is waiting for him on the table.

Raising his eyebrows, he looks over at Wes, who is already sitting down. He doesn’t have a plate, only a mug of coffee. “I see you remembered me today.”

“I thought food would be a good way to welcome home my favorite little brother,” Wes replies as he sets a glass at Soul’s place and picks up the mug. “Aren’t you going to sit down?”

“What do you want?” Soul eyes his brother suspiciously as he takes a seat. The smell of bacon hits his nose, and his mouth instantly begins to water. It’s been over three years since he had a proper breakfast, but as a younger sibling, he knows better than to accept anything without checking for strings attached.

“Isn’t enough that I haven’t seen my little brother in almost three years?” Wes plays the part of perfect older brother exceedingly well, even with the faded stains dotting the collar of his t-shirt and the patches of stubble in the places he missed during shaving.

“No.” His stomach rumbles traitorously as the scent of pancakes mixes in with the bacon.

They stare at each other for a moment before Wes gives in with a sigh. “Listen, I know I messed up yesterday,” he says. “And I wanted to apologize.”

“I was walking in the woods forever!” Soul lowers his voice at a warning look from Wes. “I could have frozen to death. Or gotten mauled by a bear.”

“Marie already called, she says you couldn’t have been in the forest for more than an hour,” answers Wes. “Not nearly enough time to die from hypothermia.”

In his desire to have the last word, Soul speaks before his brain can catch up with his mouth. “Enough time for whatever was chasing me through the woods to catch up to me last night.”

“What?” Wes’ expression becomes alarmed. “How did you get away?”

“Well, it wasn’t chasing me _exactly_ , more like following me.” He backpedals on his exaggeration as he finally gives in and begins to eat. “It ran off before I could see anything more than its shadow.”

“Probably a raccoon, they scare off easily,” Wes says, relaxing back in his seat. He takes a sip of his coffee. “It sounds like you had quite an adventure yesterday.”

“It was.” Soul talks around the piece of pancake in his mouth, more cautious now. It doesn’t appear that Marie told Wes anything about how she found him, and he intends to keep it that way. He swallows. “Unnecessary, too.”

Wes begins to speak and then closes his mouth. Leaning forward, he opens his mouth again. “Listen, I know last night wasn’t the best start to coming home,” he starts, “which is why I have a proposal.”

Soul arches an eyebrow. “And that is?”

“Yesterday never happened,” suggests Wes. He gestures to the food in front of him. “I picked you up from the station this morning, and we came home to enjoy this breakfast I thoughtfully prepared.”

“Is that so?” Soul considers for a moment. “Deal,” he says. “But you’d better tell Marie not to mention to Mom and Dad that she brought me home.” He pauses. “Do they even know I’m home?”

“Of course, they do.” There’s a beat of silence, and then Wes amends himself. “Well, they knew you were coming home this week,” he says. “At least, I heard Mom arguing with the financial office about charging you for fall semester.”

The same prickly feeling from last night crawls over Soul, but he forces it deep down. “That’s ridiculous, I was only in enrolled for two weeks,” he says. “You can still drop classes a month after they start.”

“Yeah, well dropping classes is not the same as dropping out of college.” There’s silence as the realization of what he said dawns on Wes’ face. “That came out harsh,” he says quickly. “I’m sor-”

Soul holds up a hand. “You don’t need to apologize, you’re right.” He shrugs. “I’m a screw-up.”

“That’s not true.” Wes shakes his head. “You did what was best for you.”

He snorts. “You don’t even sound like you buy that.”

Instead of putting him through the indignity of denying the truth, Wes takes another sip from his mug. “We don’t all follow the same path, it is what it is.”

“Well, your path didn’t force your parents to take out a second mortgage so you drop out of some fancy .”

An awkward silence fills the air; Soul stabs another piece of pancake with his fork while he watches Wes out of the corner of his eye, who is clearly struggling to find something positive to say.

“It’s true that you dropping out isn’t the...ideal way to have you come back home.” Wes speaks slowly. “But we are glad to have you back.

“Look, I know you’re going to need a while to figure things out,” he continues. “And I want you to have the space for that, but things have changed and you’re going to have to adapt.”

“Such as?” He swirls the pancake around the plate, sponging up the syrup. The prickly feeling has traveled all the way to his feet, burning in his soles.

“Marie told me that she told you about me having to put graduate school on hold and Mom and Dad’s new jobs.” There is no change in Wes’ expression, but his voice tightens ever so slightly. “They generally don’t come home until around two and don’t wake up until after noon so that means the house is a dead zone till then.”

“I’ll be like a zombie.”

“Excellent.” A glimmer of amusement appears on Wes’ face, vanishing just as quickly as it turned up. “I try my best to manage, but it would also be helpful if you helped keep the house clean,” he says. “Mom and Dad won’t admit it, but they’re so exhausted that sometimes they sleep until their next shift, which means nothing around the house gets done.”

Soul jiggles a leg to shake out the prickly feeling out of his body, though it does nothing but make him want to run out of the house even more. “And you?”

“My shift starts in forty-five minutes, usually I’ve left by now but I can afford to be a few minutes late.” Wes drains the rest of his coffee. “I get home around eight, which is when Mom and Dad’s shift starts.”

His appetite is thoroughly demolished, but he takes another bite from his plate. “Lots of quality time there.”

“It’s convenient since we have to switch off with the car.” Wes stands up, picking up his cup. “Which is another thing,” he says. “We only have one car so I hope you’re a fan of walking.”

“Only marginally.”

“Better than not at all. I think your bike is still in the shed, though, so you could try looking there.” He stretches, which is accompanied by a faint cracking sound, and lets out a sigh. At this angle, the shadows under his eyes are more prominent. “Guess I better get going.”

Soul gives him a two-fingered salute. “Rock those mall managing duties.”

“Right.” Wes doesn’t move, however, hesitating as he looks at Soul. “Would you do me a favor?”

He nibbles on the bacon. “Where’s the body?”

That temporarily pulls a real smile from his brother. “It’s nothing like that, though I’ll keep the offer in mind.” He taps a finger against the side of his mug before he speaks. “Would you call Dr. Stein sometime today?”

Soul’s fork freezes halfway to his mouth. “Why?”

“Just for prevention purposes.” Wes’ voice is casual and much too light. “It’s the first time you’ve been back since-”

“I know,” Soul interrupts, the words coming out much louder than he intended them to. A noise comes from upstairs, causing the two of them to look up. They wait, but no other sounds follow after it.

Soul waits another moment, then speaks, making sure to keep his voice low. “Fine.” Sometimes, it’s easier to give in and get along, although his brain rarely allows him to make that choice. “It might be a good idea to check in with someone who can verify my sanity.”

“You know I don’t mean it like that.” Wes prods him once in the shoulder, then goes to pick up his bag. “I just want this to be a healthy return for you.”

“I’ll be sure to give you a play-by-play recap when you get home.”

“I look forward to it.” Wes gives his hair a ruffle before heading out of the kitchen. “Make sure to stay out of trouble.”

“Can’t do anything if trouble comes after me,” he calls after him. The click of the front door closing answers him, shortly followed by the sound of the garage opening.

As soon as the garage closes, Soul gets up and makes a beeline for the trashcan, plate in hand. It’s still more than half full, and he feels vaguely bad about throwing it out, but he can’t force himself to eat anymore, not with the prickly feeling has traveled back up to his stomach.

He grabs a granola bar and water bottle before he leaves the kitchen and heads back to his room, taking care to keep quiet as he passes by his parents’ room. There, he digs his old backpack out of his closet, stowing his notebook along with the water and granola bar. In his desk drawer, he rummages for a pen, surprised when he touches cloth instead.

Soul recognizes his old headband as he pulls it out, the pointed grin of his band logo greeting him from where he stitched it on. Running his thumb over the headband, he chews on his lip as a flood of memories break through to the surface of his thoughts, slipping the headband on after a moment.

Shrugging on the backpack, Soul glances at himself in the mirror. With the headband and his old clothes, he looks exactly like how he did three years ago, if he overlooks the thin scar running across his nose.

He wrinkles his nose, moving for the door. “Gross.”

* * *

There is a heavy mist coating the ground as Soul steps outside and heads for the shed. He finds his bike easily enough, although it takes him ten minutes to dig it out from where it was shoved in the corner of the shed, which is filled to the brim. He pants as he uses the sleeve of his jacket to wipe away the heavy layer of dust from the seat and body of the bike as best as he can. The jagged teeth of his band logo grins up at him from where he spray painted it, painfully reminding him that it wasn’t just his clothes that he decorated with his band logo.

The bike wobbles dangerously as Soul pedals down the driveway, a side effect from not riding for nearly four years. He huffs for breath while he struggles to gain control of the bike as he cruises awkwardly down the road-it would be a pathetic way to die if he veered into traffic just because he couldn’t steer properly.

Ten minutes later, the truss bridge leading into Shibunsen Springs comes into view. Soul lets the bike come to a stop and hops off onto the sidewalk, cursing his grandfather’s decision to build a house outside of town instead of renting an apartment like a normal person. As he gulps down breath after breath, he notices that the paint marking the lanes has disappeared in some places, potholes worn into the asphalt like the grooves of a phonograph record.

A car emerges from the fog as he works to catch his breath, slowing as it approaches Soul. He strains to make out who is driving, recognizing the old lady gawking from the driver’s seat as Miss Mabea, the high school librarian and part-time astronomy teacher.

He attempts to look like he’s not dying as he waves. “Please keep driving,” he mutters under his breath.

Of course, voicing such a plea to the universe means that she stops instead, squinting at him through overlarge glasses while she cranks the window down. “Soul Evans, is that you?”

He settles in for the interrogation. “Last time I checked.”

She looks as ancient as she did when Soul took her class, and just as owlish, with the way her glasses magnify her eyes. They’re on the verge of falling off her nose, though she doesn’t seem to notice. She peers at him curiously, and he braces himself. “There was a rumor going around town that you died.”

It’s not the worst story that could have sprung up about him. “Not yet, but there’s always tomorrow.”

“You were always a cheeky boy.” She doesn’t sound miffed, however. “But you got an A in my class.”

“It’s just tracing pictures in the sky,” he replies, righting his grip on the bike’s handlebars. He doesn’t mention that it had also provided a convenient excuse to stay out late with Maka. “And it was the only class that didn’t put me to sleep.”

“More than just tracing pictures.” The old lady wags a finger at him. “The stars have all the answers, you know.”

His eyebrows furrow together. “You mean like astrology?”

“Not that nonsense,” she says vehemently, waving a hand. “I have an observatory set up on the roof of my apartment, stop by if you want to hear what the stars have to say.”

“I didn’t know being a librarian paid that well.”

Her expression turns sly as she leans forward. “The school has been an unsuspecting benefactor in providing most of my supplies.”

He’s not sure whether to be impressed by her brazenness. “I know Officer Marie,” he says. “I could tell her, you know.”

“Maybe a boring person would, but I saw your last concert.” Her glasses nearly slip off her nose as she winks at him. “Taking risks is something we have in common, I think.”

With that, she drives away. Soul watches as she rounds the bend in the road and makes a mental note to visit her soon as he gets back on his bike. Above him, the sky that isn’t hidden is stained with streaks of pink and red. The glare of the sun picks at his eyes as he bikes across the bridge, unused to so much light after months of waking up well into the afternoon.

The sign marking the border of Shibunsen Springs comes into view; he slows to get a better look at it. Like the bridge, the paint of the welcome sign is faded and the population count appears to have been whited out and rewritten so many times that he can’t make out the number.

He pedals on. The bumpiness of the bridge is replaced by the smoother asphalt of Maple Hills, the residential area where most of Shibunsen Springs’ citizens live, with the exception of newer residents who often chose to live in an apartment in Town Centre, or older families like Soul’s, who built outside of town when the mines were still open.

As he bikes through Maple Hills, the fog begins to lift, giving him a better look around him. The houses mirror his parents’ house, drooping plants in dead yards and houses that look like corn husks that have been in the sun for too long. Several houses have ‘For Sale’ signs posted in their yards, although none have a “Sold” sign.

Power lines peek through the dissipating fog like giants, breaking up the sky in regular intervals. They look like a blank row from a composition book, three rows of black lines cutting across the sky. The grid of power lines are the first thing that looks remotely well-kept, unsurprising since they are the lifeblood of the town. It appears like they’ve even been reinforced, to keep them from going out the way they did last time.

Before Soul can push it down, the memory of what happened when the power lines went down rises up. The memory flickers in his vision, and he nearly bikes into a fence as he jerks back the handlebars in reflex. He skids to a stop, heart lodged in his throat.

When his breathing has returned to normal, he reaches for his backpack, pulling out his notebook. There is a dangerous rapidness to his thoughts that he hasn’t felt in a while, and he wonders for an instant if Wes had a point when he suggested he reach out to Dr. Stein.

He sketches out himself sitting atop the unfinished tunnel as best as he can, inking in a dark circle at the bottom to resemble the shadow figure from last night. Next to the tunnel, he draws his almost-collision with the fence. When he’s finished, he writes in “Near-Death Experiences” in terrible cursive at the top of the page.

For a moment, he studies the drawings-it’s not the most happy subject matter, but his thoughts have slowed, at least. The memory that caused his near-accident has disappeared too; it should be a relief, but he finds there is also a strange coldness fluttering in his stomach.

Whatever it is, he doesn’t care to find out. Soul snaps the notebook shut and stows it back into the backpack. Pushing himself back up on the bicycle seat, he takes a final look around the neighborhood and pedals away.

The red brick of the apartment buildings that marks the unofficial border between Maple Hills and Town Centre comes into view. Unlike the name implies, Town Centre is not located at the center of Shibunsen Springs, although it is arguably the figurative center of town. He bikes past the apartment buildings, turning onto Market Street, which stretches a mile and a half and holds the majority of Shibunsen Springs’ businesses. Here, the buzz of cars and the sight of people walking up and down the street brings the town alive, the only place he’s seen so far where the town has a clear heartbeat.

He surveys the street, which dead ends into the subway system that wasn’t so much a system as a circle, trolleying residents back to the beginning of Market Street. It had also been a way for miners and supplies to be trolleyed up the mountain, although that portion of the system has long since been closed off. There aren’t nearly as many shops and businesses as there were when the mines were open or even before he left, although a substantial number appear to be holding strong.

He deliberately keeps his gaze on the sidewalk when he passes by Scythe’n’Saw, though he’s relieved to see that the shop escaped the fate of the two boarded-up shops it’s sandwiched between. A block down, he observes that the old Balloon Buster store remains shuttered and that the pizza shop has been replaced by a Chinese food place. However, Taco To-Go is still open, which he counts as a personal win.

The Shake Shack has moved locations, he discovers, now next to the Tick Tock Diner. Soul slots his bike into one of the spaces at a nearby bike rack, letting its hideous orange color and his poorly spray-painted band logo serve as a deterrent for anyone who would consider stealing it.

Running a hand through his hair to flatten it somewhat, he’s surprised to find a sliver of anxiety sliding into his stomach as he approaches the door, hand hesitating on the handle. He meets his reflection’s eyes in the glass. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

He yanks the door open a little too vigorously, and the bells attached to the top of the door slam against the glass, creating a cacophony of noise.

A voice yells out as he approaches the counter. “What the fuck do you want?”

Soul gets a glimpse of a bat coming straight at his face, dodging it just barely. Lifting his arms in front of him, he yells, “What the fuck, dude?”

“Shit.” The bat stops, mid-swing, and Black Star peeks around it. The apron he wears is stained with days-old ice cream stains, and is most definitely not up code. “Soul?”

“The person you talked to less than an hour ago, yeah.” He lowers his hands, summoning his best glare. “Do you greet all your customers like this or am I just an exception?”

“We got robbed a couple days ago.” There are too many colors in Black Star’s hair for Soul to name them all. He lets the bat drop to his side. “Geez, I forgot weird you looked. What happened to your face?”

“Had a fight with a tree,” he says, lifting an eyebrow. “And those are high words coming from someone whose hair looks like the top of a Funfetti cupcake.”

“Ok, nightmare eyes,” Black Star shoots back. He pauses, studying Soul. “So you’re _back_ back?” he asks finally.

“I believe that’s what the word return means.”

“If you say so, Mister College Fancypants.” Black Star leans on the bat like a cane, narrowing his eyes and smirking. “Too bad you didn’t get a brain there.”

Soul grins. “Too bad you never got over your anime phase.”

“Too bad you didn’t contract meningitis and have your brain grow three sizes.”

“Too bad Old Man Tezca hasn’t run you over with his truck yet.”

Straightening, Black Star points the bat at Soul like a sword. “Too bad you spent three years on your own and never asked a girl out.”

He pushes the bat away. “You can’t know that.”

“But am I wrong?”

Soul doesn’t answer that, wracking his brain for a retort. “Too bad you never asked-” He breaks off. “Shit, wait. You asked Kid out in senior year.”

“Three years and still going strong, baby,” Black Star crows.

“Uh, congrats.” Soul scratches his head, thinking hard before giving up. “I got nothing.”

Black Star lifts his arms in the air, narrowly missing Soul with the bat. “I win!”

“I’m rusty,” answers Soul. He glances around and notes belatedly that the store is empty. “Just wait till next time.”

“I’ll still kick your ass,” Black Star declares, tossing the bat on the counter and following after it, scrambling over the counter on all fours. He turns to face Soul, fingers thrumming against the cash register. “So.”

He’s confused by the expectant expression on Black Star’s face. “So?”

Black Star outstretches his arms. “YOU’RE HOME!”

He’s loud enough to make Soul’s ears ring, although spending hours blasting music in his dorm probably hasn’t helped. Wincing, he pulls at his ear, sinking into one of the barstools running along the counter. “Mind giving me a little warning sometime?”

“You know that’s against my ethics,” Black Star replies, taking out a metal scooper from an apron pocket and twirling it in his hand once before tapping it against the counter.

“I see you haven’t changed much.” Soul traces a pattern on the counter, staring at the glass display of ice cream in front of him.

“Why become anything else when you’re already the best?”

“Your best is working at the Shake Shack?” Soul asks.

“It’s a step,” says Black Star, waving his words away with the scooper. “And it’s gotten Kid and I into our own apartment so chew on that.”

“You live together?” he asks. “When did that happen?”

“The house started getting cramped when Mom and Dad adopted Angela.” He pockets the scooper again and takes out a rag from underneath the counter and begins to wipe the surface down. “They’re too nice to say anything, so I bit the bullet for them after graduation. Kid moved in a month later.”

“I see.” The anxiety in his stomach comes to life again. “And how was it?” he asks. “Graduation, I mean.”

“It’s a town with less than three thousand people in it, dude.” Black Star says, shrugging. “We were done in an hour. Maka was valedictorian, obviously.”

“Unsurprising.” He pretends not to notice how high-pitched his voice comes out. Clearing his throat, he attempts to act as casual as he can. “What’s she been up to?”

“She’s pretty much taken over the old Scythe’n’Saw,” Black Star answers. “And not much more than that, really.” He gives Soul a critical look. “I would have thought you’d have visited her already.”

“Haven’t quite worked myself up to that,” mutters Soul, which is about as close as he can get to the truth.

Black Star’s expression stays unsympathetic. “She’s gonna kill you for leaving the way you did, you know.”

“Next, you’ll be telling me the sky is blue.” He raps a finger against the glass display and looks up at Black Star, changing the subject. “So, your own apartment?”

“New car, too.” The excitement floods back into Black Star’s voice. “Well, used, technically,” he corrects himself. “But the old owner only had it for a year and it runs like it’s brand new so it counts.”

“It’s like the five second rule, but for cars,” says Soul. There’s a sinking feeling gnawing a hole at the bottom of his stomach, and he doesn’t like it. “You’re a regular grown-up.”

“Ew, gross.” Black Star wrinkles his nose. “The only reason I’m vaguely competent is because of Kid. We motivate each other.”

“That is the most mushy-gushy thing I’ve ever heard you say.”

“I’m a box of surprises,” replies Black Star. He puts the rag back under the counter and leans forward. “If you’re free, we can go visit Kid at lunch. He works at the Bid-n-Vid.”

“At the rate I’m going, I’m free for the rest of my life.” Soul shrugs off his backpack, digging for his wallet and extracting the last ten dollar bill he has left.

He holds out the money to Black Star, done with hearing updates for now. “I believe I owe you a milkshake.”

* * *

There are nine people who come into Shake Shack before lunch, including two missionaries who don’t buy anything, but give Soul several strange looks. They never speak to him though, and leave Black Star with two bibles.

“They send new people here every month,” Black Star says, putting the bibles in the lost and found bin by the counter. He hooks his apron over his head and hangs it on one of the posts of the glass display. “I think they like me.”

“Like how death loves old people.” Soul hops off the barstool and stretches. Out of habit, he glances towards the door, though he’s long since stopped expecting to see Maka walking in, something that simultaneously fills him with relief and an odd sort of emptiness.

Black Star snorts as they head out of the Shake Shack. “They have to be curious about what color my hair is going to be, at least,” he says, pausing to pull out a key and lock the entrance.

“And you decided to give them the rainbow,” Soul says, falling into step with him. His stomach rumbles as they head down the street, which he does his best to ignore. “Kid won’t mind me encroaching on your lunch date, will he?”

“Nah, dinner is our meal date,” Black Star says, waving his question away. “Besides, I’m sure he’ll be happy to see you.”

Soul keeps his doubts internal, save for one small snort that escapes him by accident. While he and Kid had been more or less acquaintances in high school, he had gotten the distinct feeling that the only reason Kid tolerated his presence was for Black Star.

The Bid-n-Vid is only eight blocks down from Shake Shack, but in the time it takes for him and Black Star to reach the store, Soul counts at least seven double takes from passerby, which makes him start to believe Mabea wasn’t exaggerating when she told him the town thought he died. Black Star notices too, but in an incredibly out-of-character move, he doesn’t comment on it. For his part, Soul tries to shove down the cesspit of emotions bubbling in his gut, fingers itching for his notebook. He’s never cared what others thought about him, or how they reacted to his appearance, but the prolonged stares make him feel like he’s on stage again. Unable to draw, he counts windows until he’s staring at the cut-out cartoon bear that serves as the advertisement for Bid-n-Vid.

“Get the latest VHS rentals at a price you can always afford,” he reads aloud. He turns to Black Star. “Have the owners not realized this sign is slightly outdated?”

“Yes, and Kid’s brought it up to them at every staff meeting,” says Black Star, pulling the door open and propping it with the wooden door stop lying by the door. Muted elevator music that sounds almost clinical drifts from the back of the store, at odds with the overly bright lights saturating the store.“Three years later, Sid the Video Bear still lives.”

“We do not speak the name of evil here,” a voice says from the right of the store as they enter the shop. Kid steps out from his place behind the register, his amber eyes blinking at Soul. “It’s already enough that I have to move him to and from the supply closet everyday.”

“I keep telling you I’ll get rid of it,” Black Star says as he walks over to his boyfriend, looping an arm around Kid’s shoulder. “And you keep saying no.”

“That’s because your version of getting rid of the bear involves arson,” Kid answers, reaching over to ruffle Black Star’s hair. He’s grown taller than Black Star or Soul, which is a change from high school. “There are better things to go to jail for.”

Ignoring the short huff Black Star gives him, Kid turns his gaze back to Soul. “I was wondering when Black Star was going to drag you over here,” he says. “It’s nice to see you again, Soul.”

Soul squints at Kid in suspicion-he seems entirely unsurprised by his presence. “How did you know I came back?”

“Black Star messaged me as soon as he found out you were back,” Kid informs him. “It was a lot of capslock.” There is a permanently odd glimmer in Kid’s eyes that’s accentuated by the dim light in the video store. In high school, a rumor went around that he’d been born with brown eyes and a traumatic accident in middle school made his eyes change color, though Soul never asked him about it. “I have to admit I was pretty surprised by the news, as well.”

“Well, you know,” he stuffs his hands back in his pockets as he trails after the two to the register. “I live to surprise people.”

“That’s putting it lightly.” Black Star plops himself on the counter while Kid takes his spot behind the register. “You’re like the pop-goes-the-weasel of surprises.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.“ Soul leans against the far side of the register, studying the video display next to it with vague disinterest. Like the rest of the store, the rows of VHS tapes and DVDs are precisely arranged and surprisingly free of dust, given the fact that he has never seen a customer enter or exit the store.

He picks up a DVD from the rental display that is still in its wrapping, despite having been released three years ago. “How does this place stay open?”

“Sticking to minimal costs.” Kid takes out two paper bags from underneath the register. “And a series of small miracles.”

“What he means is that he’s the only full-time employee and gets paid less than minimum wage,” says Black Star, taking a sandwich from the bag and giving it a sniff. “And he does extra stuff like putting on movie nights, too.”

“Is that so?” The smell of ham makes Soul’s stomach audibly protest his decision to forego most of his breakfast.

“You know what happens when a business starts to go under.” Kid’s voice has the tone of someone who has already had this conversation many times. “And we can’t move to South Harbor on one paycheck.”

“I know, I know.” Black Star rolls his eyes as he prods half of his sandwich into Soul’s hand. “But I can still complain about it.”

Soul freezes in the middle of bringing of sandwich in his mouth. “You’re moving?”

“Yup.” Black Star swings his legs back and forth as he starts to wolf down his half of the sandwich. “This time next year, we’ll be kicking it in South Harbor in our new apartment.”

“Provided we find jobs,” tacks on Kid.

“That’s the easy part.” Black Star waves away his boyfriend’s words. “There’s no shortage of jobs in South Harbor.”

“Yes, but only so many we’re qualified for.”

“And that’s why there’s community college.”

Soul interrupts whatever Kid is about to reply, the words finally sinking in. “You’re really leaving?”

“The only reason anyone sticks around here is because they’re stuck, not because they want to,” says Black Star. He gestures to Soul with his sandwich. “ _You_ left, so why are you so shocked?”

“I left because I went to college.” Soul pinches a piece of the sandwich bread flat. The sinking feeling is back, winding in his stomach. It kills his appetite entirely. “That’s not forever.”

“Well, it’s not like you can’t visit.” Black Star resumes eating his sandwich. “Plus, if you wanted to keep people from leaving, you’re already too late.”

Unwillingly, Maka’s face flashes in Soul’s mind as a feeling like lead joins the gnawing hole in his stomach. He sets the sandwich on the counter to Kid’s apparent dismay. “What do you mean?”

“Jackie took off like a month ago.” There’s a pause as Black Star swallows. “Took a page out of your book, too, and left without telling anyone or taking anything.”

Soul blinks in surprise. “Jackie wouldn’t run away without telling her brother or Kim.”

Kid speaks up. “We don’t know if she actually ran away,” he says, giving Black Star a look. “That’s just what most of the town thinks.”

“And what are the other options?” Black Star asks. “She got kidnapped by Bigfoot?”

“It’s not something I think she’d do, at least.” Kid lifts his hands up in a half-shrug. “Her parents don’t either, given all those flyers they’ve put up around town.”

Black Star rolls his eyes. “Parents are experts in denial. Maka’s dad still thinks she wants to run the shop for the rest of her life.”

“My dad thinks I want to what?” asks a voice from the entrance of the store.

A frigid sort of shock wraps around Soul like a voice. The world seems to swim in slow motion as he raises his head, speeding back up again as his eyes lock with Maka’s.

She comes to a standstill in the middle of the store, mouth half-open. He’s on his feet too, somehow, though he can’t get his brain to cobble together a single sentence. Her eyes are a more vivid green than he remembers, but that might be because she’s the only thing he sees right now.

He’s on the verge of forcing out a greeting when her mouth snaps shut and she breaks eye contact, lifting her chin. It’s impossible for him to stop himself from following her with his eyes as she strides forward, coming to a stop right next to him. Her bag knocks into his arm as she swings it onto the counter. “Hey, Kid. I just wanted to return the movie I borrowed last week.”

Although Maka’s voice is bright and calm, the way she places the DVD copy of Pride and Prejudice on the counter with slightly too much force speaks volumes.

Mutely, Kid nods, his usual passive expression replaced by an acute discomfort. Next to him, Black Star has gone completely still, eyes darting between Soul and Maka, apparently just as speechless. A brittle silence descends upon the store as Kid picks up the DVD while Maka continues to ignore Soul. Her fingers thrumming against the glass is the only sign that betrays her facade.

Soul stays rooted where he is, gaze fixed on the tapping of Maka’s fingers. His heart is beating so fast that it feels like it’s about to bore a hole through his chest. A cacophony of things his mind is screaming at him to say pound against the walls of his head. However, being a coward has always been his default, except with Maka, or that’s how it used to be. He continues to stare at Maka’s hand, wishing for a hole large enough to erase his existence, but the universe does not comply, and he’s left standing at the counter in an awkward and iron silence.

“All set.” Kid sets the DVD in the return basket sitting next to the register. “Anything else?”

“Nope.” Maka pushes away from the counter, bag bumping against Soul again as she shoulders it. “Thanks.”

For the first time since she entered the store, Black Star speaks. “Hey-”

Maka cuts him off, already halfway to the exit. “Sorry, my shift’s about to start up again.” Her gaze flicks to Soul so quickly he nearly misses it. “But we can talk later.”

She’s out of the door before Black Star can answer.

The silence in the store persists for several moments. “Well,” Kid says finally. “That could have gone worse, I think.”

Sarcasm is his default in deflecting hard conversations, but his head is too scrambled to think very clearly. He wants to jump out of his skin, a level of emotion he’s successfully avoided for the past three years. “If you say so.”

“You know her temper, she’ll probably yell at you sometime in the next few days, and then things will go back to normal.” Black Star hops off the counter, clapping him on the shoulder.

“Yeah, maybe.” The soft music of the store is pounding against his ears. He straightens from the counter. “Listen, I have to go.”

“But I thought you were going to stay so you could see our apartment,” protests Black Star.

“Maybe tomorrow. I still have a lot to unpack.” He tries to dilute his lie with a truth. “And I haven’t seen my parents yet.”

“It’s probably for the best for Soul to come tomorrow,” interjects Kid. “The apartment is a mess right now.”

“Your idea of a mess is not dusting for three days.”

“A precursor to a mess is still a mess.”

Soul attempts to extricate himself from the conservation by taking a step back. “I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

“Hold on!” Black Star jabs a finger in his face. “I can’t believe you haven’t brought it up yet!”

He tries not to wince at the way Black Star’s voice rings against his eardrums. “Brought what up?”

“Band practice!” Black Star exclaims. There’s a giddiness in his tone as he rubs his hands together. “We still practice at the old Balloon Buster every Monday and Wednesday.”

His brow furrows. “Wait, how have you been practicing without me?”

“Maka’s been covering your old spot with her electronic stuff,” answers Kid. “But now that you’re back, she can take over for Jackie until she returns.”

“Not the same as the old days, but it’s a start.” Black Star pokes him vigorously in the shoulder. “Which means you have two days to get over whatever you and Maka need to hash out.”

“I’m pretty sure I’ll die of hypothermia from the cold shoulder, but I’ll give it a try.” The lie drops easily from his mouth. He takes another few steps to the entrance, fighting the urge to bolt out of the store. “You also do realize _I_ haven’t agreed to play, haven’t you?”

“I know where you live, Evans.”

“So does the rest of the town.” With a final wave, he disappears through the door.

* * *

The house is as quiet as it was before Soul left, though he sees evidence of someone having rummaged through the kitchen. He picks up the still-open box of graham crackers that was left on the counter, putting it back in the pantry.

His stomach gives another angry rumble, clearly dissatisfied with the scraps he’s given it, as he contemplates the pantry’s contents. At the top of all the food containers is a hideously yellow banner, marketing the food as “Gorgon Mart Exclusive”, although he sees absolutely no difference between the containers and the food he bought at college.

 _It’s the food equivalent of a cult,_ he thinks as he selects a bag of chips and turns to the refrigerator, where the yellow banners continue to reign supreme. There is no sign of his favorite generic fizzy soda he used to guzzle down, so he settles for apple juice, taking his old seat on the barstools lining the island in the middle of the kitchen.

He’s halfway through the bag of chips when the rhythmic creak of stairs alerts him to the approach of someone from upstairs.

A moment later, his father shuffles into the kitchen, blinking blearily as he looks around the room before his gaze falls on Soul. He pauses in the middle of the entrance, rubbing his eyes with one hand while the other extracts a pair of glasses from his robe pocket. “Oh, you’re here.”

His father was never one for proper greetings. Or farewells. He pops another chip in his mouth. “That would be an accurate statement.”

There’s more gray in his father’s hair than he remembers. “I didn’t hear your brother leave to go pick you up,” he mumbles as he heads towards the coffee machine next to the stove. There is a pause as he switches the machine on. “You did come back yesterday, right?”

At first, Soul thinks the question is his dad’s feeble attempt at sarcasm, but after a moment of awkward silence, he realizes that he is being sincere. “You book your dentist appointments two years in advance, but you forgot I was coming home?”

“I knew, I was just making sure.” Admitting mistakes is not one of his father’s strong points. There’s silence for a minute before his father speaks again. “You came on the train?”

Clearly, the absent-mindedness is not just limited to his brother. He decides to spare his father this time. “Yeah, I took the morning train.”

A furrow develops between his father’s brow as he turns around while the coffee machine hums to life. “But how was Wes able to pick you up if he never asked me for the keys?”

Soul fumbles for a moment. “I called an Uber,” he says as quickly as he can. “The door was unlocked, so that’s why you didn’t hear me come in.”

“You called an Uber?” his father repeats, frowning. “Do you know how much it costs to call an Uber all the way out here?”

He attempts not to bristle at his tone. “I had some cash left over from the last time you sent money.”

“Wasn’t that meant for your textbooks?”

All he wanted to do was to cover for Wes. “Used textbooks cost less,” he says, shrugging.

“And sell for less than new textbooks,” his father sighs. The coffee machine beeps and he turns to add the grounds. “At least, that’s less of a bill to worry about,” he says after a moment.

Soul recalls Wes telling him about his parents being charged for his fall semester, although he spent a grand total of zero hours going to his classes. He doesn’t even remember if he even left his room during the two weeks he spent in the semester before he finally called it quits.

There is a heat that accompanies the angry prickling underneath his skin. “I’ll find a way to pay for it,” he says suddenly. “And everything else.”

“You don’t have to worry about that.” His father twists his head to look at him. “We’ve got it covered well enough.” There is an exhausted kind of sympathy on his face that makes Soul want to slam his head into the nearest wall. It would be better if he just started yelling at him, but there is no easy way to exit this conversation with him acting like this.

“I guess that’s a relief.” It’s the closest he can come to a “thank you” or an apology. He rises to return the chips to the pantry. When he comes out of the pantry, his father is pouring the coffee, which resembles black sludge, into a mug.

He offers the coffee pot to him. “Want some?”

“My brain already runs fatally close to overdrive,” Soul replies. He glances over at the clock on the stove. “Wes said you and Mom normally slept until right before your next shift.”

“In general, yes.” His father sets down the coffee pot and pulls his glasses from his face, squinting at the lenses. “But there’s a few errands to run before work and I wanted to spare your mother the ordeal of having to go to work before her shift starts.”

Soul’s thoughts flicker to the pantry full of Gorgon Mart-exclusive food. “Do you like working at Gorgon Mart?”

His father gives an approximation of a shrug. “It puts food on the table,” he says. “Literally, as I’m sure you noticed,” he adds on after a moment. “It’s not the funnest or most rewarding job, but your grandma always taught me to be adaptable.” A wistful expression comes onto his face. “She would loved to hear about what you learned in university.”

It’s the first time anyone mentioned his grandmother, and the first time Soul wishes he just decided to rot in his dorm instead of coming home.

“I’m going to my room,” he says abruptly. He ignores the look of surprised disappointment on his father’s face. “Let me know if you need me to do anything.”

* * *

_[6:39 pm] Soul: Paging Dr. Stein!_

_[6:42 pm] Stein: This feels a little like the beginning of a sequel to a bad horror movie, I have to say._

_[6:43 pm] Soul: hey, it’s been three years and you still check our email chats!_

_[6:43 pm] Stein: Only for my most concerning patients._

_[6:44 pm] Soul: I’m going to put that on my resume_

_[6:44 pm] Stein: I see your sense of humor has remained the same._

_[6:44 pm] Soul: all of me has remained the same except instead of a mentally unstable high school graduate I’m a mentally unstable college drop-out_

_[6:45 pm] Stein: And now I see why you messaged me._

_[6:46 pm] Soul: My brother asked me to contact you, actually. Several times, in an increasingly nagging parent way. So here I am._

_[6:46 pm] Stein: Ever the voice of reason. So, what’s the update?_

_[6:46 pm] Soul: do you want me to fast forward past the part of a college failure? or would you like to hear a play by play?_

_[6:47 pm] Stein: Remember what we discussed concerning defeatist language and attitudes._

_[6:49 pm] Soul: I majored in jazz studies for almost three years and after several trials and tribulations I found college wasn’t for me. Is that better?_

_[6:50 pm] Stein: Maybe if it wasn’t sarcastic. How has the coming home experience been treating you?_

_[6:52 pm] Soul: there should be a limit on how many emotions you feel per day_

_[6:52 pm] Stein: Ah._

_[6:52 pm] Stein: Are you still keeping the notebook?_

_[6:53 pm] Soul: I’m currently working on my third best-seller._

_[6:52 pm] Stein: Any dreams?_

_[6:53 pm] Soul: anyways, I think that’s it, could you let Wes know I messaged you?_

_[6:53 pm] Stein: Give me a promise to talk next week and ten minutes of honesty without emotional avoidance and I’ll consider it._

_[6:53 pm] Soul: my brother asked you to ask me that_

_[6:53 pm] Stein: I could make it thirty. And charge you for the session._

_[6:53 pm] Soul: Ten minutes it is. I had a stress dream this morning that just so happened to match the ones we’ve talked about before. What else do you want to know?_

_[6:54 pm] Stein: We’ll put that to the side for now. How has coming home actually been?_

_[6:54 pm] Soul: my brother forgot to pick me up at the train station yesterday so there was that for starters_

_[6:54 pm] Stein: That doesn’t seem very like Wes._

_[6:56 pm] Soul: Well, he didn’t really forget me, I guess. He fell asleep because he’s had to take over my parents’ old job while they work night shifts at Gorgon Mart so they can pay off my school loans._

_[6:57 pm] Soul: Out of the three friends I had, one ran away or went missing or whatever, and the second one hates my guts now. And the one who doesn’t hate me is going to be moving away with his boyfriend in a year._

_[6:58 pm] Stein: That’s a lot for less than 24 hours. How did that make you feel?_

_[6:58 pm] Soul: Frustrated, I guess?_

_[6:58 pm] Stein: I thought you had grown past guessing your emotions._

_[6:58 pm] Soul: fine, I was frustrated_

_[6:58 pm] Stein: About what?_

_[6:58 pm] Soul: are you kidding me?_

_[6:59 pm] Stein: I’ve never made a joke in my entire life._

_[6:59 pm] Soul: right now, I’m feeling annoyed because of you_

_[6:59 pm] Stein: Don’t make me extend your time._

_[6:59 pm] Soul: ugh_

_[7:01 pm] Soul: I was frustrated because I had to walk home in the middle of the night through the woods and I thought I saw something but it was just a shadow I think please don’t read into that_

_[7:02 pm] Soul: everyone in my family is working themselves to death because of my idiot brain_

_[7:02 pm] Soul: and yes I know that’s “defeatist language” but it’s the truth_

_[7:02 pm] Stein: Go on._

_[7:02 pm] Soul: it’s not like my friend who disappeared to run away but there’s not much I can do there_

_[7:02 pm] Soul: and I’m dying to talk to the friend who hates me but I won’t because that’s who I am_

_[7:03 pm] Soul: I should be happy for my friend who is moving but mostly I want to yell at him so I’m not sure what kind of person that makes me but it’s definitely somewhere on the asshole spectrum_

_[7:03 pm] Soul: Basically, everything’s different and I’m the same._

_[7:03 pm] Soul: The end._

_[7:04 pm] Stein: How does it feel putting all that out there?_

_[7:04 pm] Soul: like I was just forced to puke up everything I’ve ever eaten_

_[7:04 pm] Soul: your time is up btw_

_[7:04 pm] Stein: It’s enough for you to see your own thoughts and emotions. You know it’s never been my job to tell you how to live your life. That I leave to you._

_[7:04 pm] Soul: why must you drag me like this_

_[7:04 pm] Stein: I do have to ask: is there anything that you feel might trigger an emergency?_

_[7:06 pm] Soul: Nothing like before is going to happen._

_[7:06 pm] Stein: I wasn’t implying it was, just that you should be aware of what situations might be unhealthy for you._

_[7:06 pm] Soul: We’re veering dangerously into parent territory here_

_[7:06 pm] Soul: Anyways thanks for answering_

_[7:06 pm] Stein: Don’t forget about next week_

_[7:07 pm]: Soul: I wouldn’t dream of it_


	4. Interlude [Storm's End]

_Lesson 4: Be careful where you store your memories._

* * *

_The wind screams again, high-pitched and desperate, before extinguishing itself in a roar of thunder. Outside, the rain breaks for the first time in thirteen days, and the world goes still, but inside the house, the screaming continues._

_“Soul? Soul!”_

_In his room, Soul leans against his desk as he watches himself lying on his bed, staring up at the ceiling while his grandma continues to call his name. This is a dream, he knows it because he’s dreamt this memory many times, and like all the times before, he does nothing to change it._

_His grandma’s cries become louder after a minute. Right on cue, his mother’s voice comes from downstairs. “Soul, you’re supposed to be with your grandmother!”_

_Neither Soul nor his dream self moves. There’s a creak at the bottom of the stairs as his mother begins to call him again, but a clap of lightning sends her rushing back to the basement, where Wes and his father are working frantically to get the back-up generator running again._

_Meanwhile, his job is to watch his grandma and see if she dies in the time it takes to restart the generator. His father had said it as much to him, in the doorway of his grandma’s room while his mother and brother ran for the basement, right after the generator had stopped working and the whir of the ventilator, which did so much of his grandma’s breathing, went quiet._

_He had taken one look at his grandma’s bed after his father left, knew that she saw him even if the room was too dark for him to see her, and crossed the hallway to his room, shutting the door behind him._

_And this is where he and his dream self would stay, at least until the end, until too late. Shadows of the trees outside his room dance on the walls, brought alive by the chaos outside, encircling them in an imaginary cage. Beyond the house, there is an odd ringing accompanying the final death throes of the storm, almost songlike, but he isn’t interested enough in adding onto this nightmare to investigate._

_Soul’s fingers twitch as his grandma’s cries get weaker, a movement his dream self mirrors, but still they don’t rise. There’s a silent scream in him begging for him to get up, but even in a dream, he can’t change who he is._

_Finally, his grandma stops calling and the house goes quiet. As soon as it does, his dream self springs up from the bed, like the silence was the alarm he was waiting for. Soul’s gaze shifts to the ceiling as his dream self leaves the room-this was usually when the blood started._

_However, the blood does not begin to flow from the walls. Instead, Soul listens to the sound of his footsteps to his grandma’s room and the creak of the door as his dream self enters her room, which is a new twist of the dream and infinitely worse than drowning in black blood._

_He goes to his window, but the storm is over, and there is no sound to drown out his memory._


	5. Shadows and Monsters

_Lesson 5: Don’t look at shadows too closely._

* * *

The light is what wakes up Soul today, sharp rays breaking through the gaps of the broken blind lopsidedly covering the window. He grumbles and rolls over onto his stomach, pulling his pillow over his head, but it’s no good. Sleep is gone, while the bitterness of his nightmare sticks to his eyelids.

Kicking off the blankets, he gets up and heads for his desk, running a hand through his hair, though it only serves to make it stand up even more, from what he can make out of his reflection in the computer screen.

The time on the computer reads well past noon, and nearing the time he is supposed to meet Black Star at Shake Shack. He braces himself for the flood of messages as he logs into his computer.

There is no barrage of reminders from Black Star, however. Apparently, when he makes a promise, he’s expected to follow through with it without being babied or bullied into it, which is an odd mix of gratifying and annoying.

He glances at Maka’s icon, still offline, as he clicks on the frog Jackie has for her icon. Like Black Star, it’s been so long since they last spoke that their entire conversation history has vanished. He stares at the blank, white screen for a long moment before beginning to type.

[12: 32 pm] This_is_fine.jpg: heyo guess who’s back

[12:39 pm] This_is_fine.jpg: are you there

[12:41 pm] This_is_fine.jpg: i thought i was the resident asshole here

[12:44 pm] This_is_fine.jpg: listen idk if you really ran away or not but if you did you should let someone know that you’re okay

After that, he gives up; he’s an expert in dead ends, after all. Pushing away from the desk, Soul slumps in his chair, staring at the screen. He’s not skilled in dealing with feeling helpless, or any other emotion, for that matter. Momentarily, the urge to message Stein rises.

It almost sparks an action in him, but apathy has always been his master. He pushes the urge away to a place where he can comfortably forget about it, along with the dream and his grandma.

Then, he gets up and starts to get ready for the day.

* * *

It’s every bit as unpleasant biking to town as it was yesterday. Soul takes his time pedaling up and down the shallow hills that leads to Shibunsen Springs, although he’s still panting and a stitch is developing in his side by the time the bridge comes into view.

The sun is out today, unmasking what the fog had covered up, like the banner stretched across the truss bridge, advertising this year’s HarvFest. He’s slightly taken aback to see that it’s next Thursday-he’d thought HarvFest happened much later in the year. Briefly, he wonders if Black Star, Maka, and Jackie kept up their tradition of dressing up or if it had fizzled out after he left, though he’s not sure which option would sting less.

He slows when he reaches Market Street, even though it’s Sunday, which means more of the town is out and his chances of running into someone from Hiro’s family is exponentially higher. At Market Square, he stops completely, hopping off the bike and letting it drop on the patch of grass that spans most of the square.

Like Town Centre, Market Square is a misnomer, a narrow rectangle of grass and concrete that was almost a pleasant place to hang around, if the towering statue of Arthur Borowski could be ignored.

Soul steps close to the iron statue of the long-dead miner. Arthur had led the town’s first mine strike towards the end of the 19th century, which had helped transform Shibunsen Springs into the boomtown it used to be. For that, he had been memorialized in place of the town’s actual founders, where the most that was known about them is that they were fur trappers named John and Steven. Rust covers most of Arthur’s helmet, dotting patches of his arms and feet, too, but the angry righteousness still burns brightly in his fierce glare, making it hard to look the statue in the eyes for long, although Soul does his best.

“So what do you think of Shibunsen Springs now?” Soul asks the statue conversationally. He sticks his hands in the pockets of his hoodie, studying the slightly wild look in Arthur’s eyes. “Any comment there?”

“I knew you didn’t have all your marbles lined up, but I didn’t know you talked to statues too.”

Soul spots a head full of pink hair as the person who spoke steps out from behind the statue, and relaxes. “Hey, Kim.”

“No one thought they’d see you here again,” she says, taking a seat on the wooden bench in front of Arthur’s statue. She taps a pen against the small notepad in her hands, inspecting him with a critical eye. “But I knew you wouldn’t cut it in college.”

He raises an eyebrow. In high school, Kim had made a name for herself by saying exactly what she thought of a person to their face, along to the world at large. “If that’s the worst you got, then you’ve lost your touch.”

“Let me warm up for a bit.” She takes the cap off of her pen and flips over a page in her notepad. “It’s been over three years, after all.”

“As much as I’d love to stand around listening to you practice insults all day, there are better things I could do, like throwing myself down a mine shaft.” He starts to move away, then he stops abruptly. “Have you heard from Jackie?” he asks, watching Kim’s face carefully.

Her expression snaps shut. “No,” she says shortly. “How did you find out she left?”

“You’re honestly asking me that when you know I’m friends with Black Star?”

“Right.” She looks down, then back up at him. “Have you heard from her?”

He shakes his head.

“Oh.” The hopeful look disappears from her eyes. She looks away, and gives a shrug. “We weren’t that close anymore anyways,” she says. “The only thing she liked talking about whenever we spoke was about moving to the city so that’s probably where she is.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, even though he knows neither of them believe her words, but he doesn’t know Kim well enough to be comforting, nor does he have the personality to feign it. He searches for something to break the awkward silence, and his gaze falls on her notepad.

“You write poetry?” he says, trying to get a better glance at the words on the page.

“What? No!” Kim snatches the notepad away, flipping it closed.

“You do,” Soul insists. When he sees the stubborn expression on her face, he takes out his notebook from his bag, opening it to the relatively safe picture of the tunnel. “Look, I draw.”

Kim leans forward, examining the drawing. “Is that the old extension by the station?”

“Yup.” He makes sure to keep a firm grip on the notebook. “Thoughts?”

Pulling away, she sniffs. “It’s recognizable, so it’s not completely horrendous.”

“High praise.”

She gives a tiny hmph. There’s a beat of silence, and then she says, “I suppose I could read you one poem.”

“Go for it, Shakespeare.”

“This is a haiku, actually.” Kim opens the notepad, clears her throat, and reads in a slightly dramatic voice,

“Shadows and monsters,

“They follow me everywhere.

“There is no escape.”

She looks up at him. “Well?”

“It’s very,” he thinks for a moment, “dark and in your face,” he says. Quickly, he adds on, “But in a good way, like the way a scary movie haunts you.” He pauses. “Or a nightmare.”

Kim brightens. “This was inspired by a dream I had a couple days ago, actually.”

“Then I’d say you hit it on the nose.” He checks the time on his phone. “Listen, I have to go, but maybe you could read me another of your poems sometime?”

“Perhaps.” Her tone becomes aloof again. “We’ll have to see.”

He picks up his bike, and tips her a goodbye with his head. “I suppose we will.”

When he enters the Shake Shack, Black Star is in the middle of giving a lecture to a small, dark-haired girl wearing an apron that looks several sizes too large for her.

“Remember, you always wash the ice cream scoops first thing, no matter how clean they look,” he says, pointing at the various scoops lined up on the counter. “It’s also best to let the big shake machine warm up for ten minutes before you test it, otherwise it’s gonna jam.”

To all of this, the girl nods rapidly. She looks vaguely familiar to Soul as he approaches the counter, although he can’t quite place her-she’s at least a few years younger than him so the possibility of her being a former classmate is out.

“You sound like you’re preparing someone for war, instead of a part-time job,” he says, by way of greeting.

“Tsugumi is my successor,” Black Star retorts. “She might be new, but I already tried passing on my godlike shake-making skills to Liz, and she wasn’t interested, and Ox is an idiot.” He shucks off his apron and disappears to the back of the shop, calling to behind him, “I won’t let the Shake Shack get run out by the mediocre shakes Gorgon Mart sells just because I’m leaving.”

Tsugumi’s name rings another bell in Soul’s head, although he still can’t figure out where he’s seen her. Then the nervous look on her face sinks in and he realizes that he’s been staring at her since Black Star left. He rattles off the first question that comes to mind. “Are you planning to work here for a while?”

She nods, but the apprehensive expression doesn’t disappear.

“Then a good thing to know is that Black Star gets passionate over the silliest stuff,” he says. It’s just out of reach, where he’s seen her before. “But he’s also highly distractible.”

“I don’t mind it,” she says timidly. “He’s a good teacher, and I want to do my best.”

Soul freezes at the sound of her voice. The memory of the stage breaks out from where he buried it-he remembers where he knows her from, now.

“Alright!” Black Star emerges from the back, shaking his hair out of the weird shape his hair net had pressed it in. “You’ve got the run of the store now,” he says to Tsugumi, holding out an ice cream scoop. “At least until Liz shows up for her shift in twenty minutes.”

Tsugumi spares Soul one more nervous glance, then looks at Black Star, and gives him a determined nod as she takes the scoop. “I’ll do my best.”

“I expect a full report tomorrow.” Black Star rounds the counter and claps Soul on the shoulder. “Ready for an epic adventure?”

He blinks, leaving behind the distant place his mind had gone. “We’re going to your apartment.”

“And who says that can’t be an epic adventure?” Black Star cries, throwing his arms in the air. He gives Soul another pat on the shoulder before heading for the entrance. “Let’s go.”

Soul follows him, avoiding Tsugumi’s gaze as he exits the shop. His skin is on fire and the walls of his mind feel like a chalkboard that someone is raking their fingernails on, but he’s much calmer than he would have imagined after seeing someone who was at the recital. It is either a sign of emotional maturity or that he’s finally gone insane, though he’s not sure which one he prefers.

“Earth to Soul.” He flinches as Black Star waves a hand in front of his face. A lock of fading orange hair falls in Black Star’s eyes as he scowls at him. “Were you listening to me at all?”

“Probably not.”

Rolling his eyes, Black Star gestures to Soul’s bike, stuck haphazardly in one of the slots of the bike rack outside the Shake Shack, and then to his car parked on the side of the street next to the Tick Tock Diner. “Do you want to take your bike with us or would you rather someone steal it?”

“Only someone with incredibly bad taste would try to steal this piece of junk,” he says, even as he moves to grab it.

“So that’s why you haven’t gotten a new bike,” replies Black Star, to which Soul responds by holding up a certain finger, although he misjudges the aim of his finger and ends up flipping off the middle-aged woman driving past them.

Black Star howls with laughter while Soul lowers his hand in shame. “Well, there goes my pristine reputation.”

“I think you lost that when we covered the school in toilet paper,” says Black Star, swallowing the last of his laughter. “Do you remember what Principal Morton said when he caught us?”

“I’ve never seen such a pair of delinquents in my life!” Soul attempts to mimic the high-pitched squeak of their former principal, but it just comes out as a raspy screech. Rubbing his throat, he says in his normal voice, “I think that was the longest stint of detention we ever had.”

“Two weeks of cleaning out the bathrooms and locker rooms. I almost regretted it.” Black Star fishes out a set of car keys from his pocket as they approach his car. “Maka called us a pair of brainless dumbasses.”

The humor fades from Soul’s voice. “Good times.”

Black Star eyes him carefully as he opens the trunk to his car. “Have you talked to her yet?”

“Well.” His tone is evasive; he grabs the bike’s handlebars while Black Star takes hold of the back wheel. “Not exactly,” he says finally as they angle the bike so it fits neatly in the trunk. “But soon.”

That ‘soon’ means in his next lifetime is a detail he keeps to himself.

Blowing out a sigh, Black Star pushes the bike a bit further into the trunk before closing it. “Dude, you know it’s going to be worse if you don’t talk to her before band practice.”

That makes Soul blink in surprise. “Hasn’t she already pulled out of the band since she knows I’m back?”

“Nope.” The asphalt crunches under Black Star’s feet as he heads for the driver’s door. “And as stubborn as she is, I don’t think her pretending you don’t exist is going to last for long.”

“Wonderful news.” He’s not sure if he means that sarcastically or not. Opening the passenger door, he lowers himself into the seat. Like Black Star had said, the car definitely shows the signs of being passed from owner to owner, but he’s struck by how clean and well-maintained Black Star has kept the car.

“Kid helped me figure out an organization system that didn’t make me feel like ripping out my eyeballs,” says Black Star, twisting the key in the ignition. The car comes to life with a low hum. “It also helps to think of it as practice for when we move next year.”

An icy feeling slides into Soul’s stomach. He fiddles with the buttons for the radio. “You’re really serious about moving?” he asks casually as he switches from station to station, though he doesn’t pause long enough to actually listen to the song playing.

“Serious as a serial killer!” Black Star thumps his hands against the steering wheel. “We’ve been talking about this for a long time.”

“Yeah, but…” Soul trails off for a moment. “Leaving everything and everyone to go live in a city just because it’s a lot bigger doesn’t seem that thought out.”

“You sound like my dad.” Black Star rolls his eyes, doing his best approximation of Sid as they come to a stop at an intersection. “You can’t just up and go without a plan.” He’s quiet for a moment. “Admittedly, that was back when we didn’t have a plan and I decided to run my mouth before Kid and I actually talked about it,” he says. He lifts a finger. “But we have and now we do have a plan. Now all we gotta do is stick to it.”

“Okay.” Soul is temporarily stymied. “What does South Harbor have that Shibunsen Springs doesn’t have?”

“Are you serious?” Black Star gives him a look of disbelief as the light changes. “There’s no life here, dude!” He gestures to outside. “In the city, there are things to do and people who want to be there. It’s a new day everyday, not a repeat of the day before.”

He begins to pick at the radio again. “That seems a little dramatic.”

“Didn’t you feel the difference when you were in college?” asks Black Star as the red brick of apartment building 1063 comes into view. He turns into the underground parking lot next to the building. “I asked your brother before, but he commuted, and he’s also too diplomatic to be honest.”

Soul shrugs. His dorm was where he had spent most of his time in college. “You get in a routine like anywhere else,” he says. “The only thing that changes is the setting.”

Black Star scoffs as he eases into an empty parking spot. “You never went to a single party when you were over there?”

Grudgingly, he admits, “One.”

“And did you have fun?”

He has to cede to admit defeat on this one. The house party his roommate made him go to was probably the best experience he had in college. “Yes.”

“There you go!” Black Star turns off the car, pulling the key from the ignition. “All I want is to live in a place where I can have fun with the person I love,” he says. “And that place isn’t here.”

The icy feeling twists in Soul’s stomach, and he finally recognizes it for what it is-the jealousy of being left behind.

“I stand corrected,” he forces himself to speak, “ _that_ is the mushiest thing I’ve ever heard you say.”

Black Star grins as he opens the door. “I take that as a compliment.” His smile fades. “I just don’t want to mess it up, you know?” he says, leading the way to building’s elevator. “Kid’s the only person I want to be with, and he’s so good and focused and has a plan for everything, which I’m not great at.” He pushes the button for the elevator, pausing. “It’s silly, but sometimes I get nervous that’s he going to change his mind.”

“It’s good for you to care that much, I wish I could.” Soul speaks before he thinks, and he rushes to cover up his words as the elevator chimes. “But also, you’re a five star meal surrounded by a sea of microwavable mac and cheese meals. Kid would be nuts to give you up.”

A snort comes from Black Star as the elevator doors open. “That’s a terrible metaphor,” he says, looking at Soul. “But I appreciate it all the same.”

* * *

The layout of Black Star and Kid’s apartment is standard, the short entranceway leading into a somewhat cramped kitchen on the left that melds into a marginally less cramped living room to the right. Soul’s eyes drift over the symmetrical rows of pictures lining the walls of entranceway, depicting Kid and Black Star at various locations, ranging from the apartment to the Shake Shack to a beach he doesn’t recognize.

“You’ve been to a lot of places,” he says aloud as he follows Black Star into the kitchen.

“We like doing weekend day trips when we can,” Black Star answers, going to the sink and washing his hands. “We started after graduation. At first, we invited Maka because it seemed like she needed it, but she always refused so it became a date thing.”

It doesn’t take Soul much brainpower to understand that “after graduation” means “after you left,” nor does he ask why Maka would need to go out.

Instead of continuing the conversation, he does a sweeping gaze of the kitchen and living room. Two bar stools are tucked neatly under the narrow counter dividing the kitchen from the living room, while a small dining table is fitted in the nook space in front of the window opening out to a sprawling view of Town Centre. In the living room, a brown couch with a matching coffee table sit in front of a moderately sized TV.

He raises an eyebrow as Black Star turns off the sink. “You have matching furniture.”

“It was our first big purchase,” he answers proudly. He opens the refrigerator, frowning at the darkened interior and tapping at the fridge bulb. “The appliances are another matter, though.”

“Always room for progress, I guess.” He takes the can of fizzy pop that Black Star offers and trails him to the couch. “I’m glad your taste in drinks haven’t changed.”

“Some things never change.” Black Star flops on the couch, and Soul follows suit.

There’s a faint pop as they crack open their cans in unison, and then silence as they drink. Soul sets his can one of the coasters resting on the coffee table and leans back into the couch, although he can’t get comfortable, no matter how much he shifts around. Even when he finally decides on a position, his leg moves on its own in a restless little jig.

 _Why can’t you settle down?_ His mind, the more logical side at least, nags at him. _Why can’t you just **be**?_

Black Star breaks the silence. “You know what else hasn’t changed?” he says, pointing at the ancient console sitting on the first shelf of the TV stand. “My winning streak in _Demontower_.”

A grin spreads across Soul’s face. “That sounds like a challenge.”

“It most certainly is.” Black Star gets to his feet, reaching into the drawer next to the stand to take out a pair of controllers that look just as old as the console. “Kid gives up when he gets to the library or the church, but you were always a good opponent.”

“We’ll see,” says Soul as he accepts the controller and the title screen for _Demontower_ appears on the screen. Made in the same pixelated style of early video games, the goal of _Demontower_ was straightforward, to get Palecat, the protagonist, from the bottom to the top of the tower. The trick came in the fact that the enemies eventually became immune to Palecat’s attacks, the higher she ascended. In college, there had been a nearby arcade that Soul had visited once or twice instead of going to class, but other than that, he hasn’t touched a video game in over three years.

It shows almost at once; he watches as the red hat of Palecat is engulfed by a swarm of ghosts and skeletons, while on the other side of the screen, Black Star’s Palecat easily battles her way to the key unlocking the door to level two.

“Come on, you can’t get beaten that easy,” crows Black Star as his Palecat emerges from the Hole and into the Cellar. “Even Maka has no problem with level one!”

A flicker of annoyance and something else rises in him at the mention of Maka’s name. “I’m just rusty,” he says through slightly gritted teeth as his Palecat respawns in the center of the Hole. The movements of Palecat are limited to slash and dodge, something he’d forgotten, and it takes him dying three more times to make it past level one, by which time, Black Star had already made it to level four.

He gets into a rhythm after a while, however, he’s barely made it to the second-to-last level, the Leafy Graves, when the sound of shrill death rattle of the Blood Thief comes from Black Star’s side of the screen.

 _Second place_ flashes across Soul’s screen, which is really just a roundabout way of naming him the loser, while Black Star cheers.

“Okay,” he says decidedly, looking at Soul and drumming his fingers against the controller as the screen returns to _Demontower’s_ title screen. “Practice time is over. Ready for the real deal?”

“Not really.” His response surprises himself, but it doesn’t ring false. He ignores Black Star’s expression as he sets the controller on the coffee table, sitting back. It should feel good to be hanging out with his best friend again, playing video games like they did in the old days, but all he feels is the familiar itch of boredom picks at him, mixed with an urge that is much darker and self-destructive.

“Do you remember that game we used to play at the edge of town with your dad’s knives?” he asks suddenly.

“You mean Knife Fight?” Black Star’s eyes light up eagerly. “Hell yeah, I do!”

The self-destructive part of him crows as Soul straightens. “Feeling up to a round?”

For a moment, Black Star hesitates, and then he jumps to his feet, heading to the kitchen. “You’re really looking for a full-on beatdown today, aren’t you?”

“Maybe,” Soul calls after him. He starts to head for the kitchen as Black Star comes out, holding a pair of switchblades covered in dust.

“My dad gave them to me when I moved out,” explains Black Star as he wipes the dust from the blades. “But I didn’t really need them.”

“Until now.” Soul takes the knife with the red handle.

“Until now,” Black Star agrees. He nods towards the door. “We can go to the roof. Hardly anyone goes up there.”

The roof of the apartment building is bare, save for the water tower crammed in one corner, littered with leaves and other kinds of debris. Black Star grunts as he pushes the door leading to the stairwell open, propping it open with a broken brick lying nearby.

Soul watches the people, shrunken to the size of toy dolls, walking on the sidewalk below, which vaguely reminds him of the way he saw the forest from on top of the bridge two nights ago. He fiddles with knife as he does, starting when he pushes the button to eject the blade too hard, and the blade shoots out.

“Rookie mistake,” says Black Star from behind Soul. “You really forgot everything when you left for the fancy schmancy university, didn’t you?”

“I guess we’ll find out.” Soul mimics Black Star, putting one hand behind his back, and angling the knife towards him. “Ready?”

“You’re going to regret suggesting we play this.” Black Star comes within striking reach of Soul, sinking into his battle stance.

“I’ve never regretted anything in my entire life.”

For a long moment, they observe each other without striking. The rules to Knife Fight were exceedingly simple: either knock the knife from the opponent’s hand or jab at them until they were forced to admit defeat. From previous experience, it was also a rule that they kept their free hand behind their back at all times. They also were only allowed to move their knife arm since the chances of one of them accidentally stabbing the other in the eye increased exponentially when they were free to chase each other.

Black Star makes the first move, striking so fast that he nearly succeeds in knocking the knife from Soul’s hand, which he avoids only by twisting his hand away. The blade only grazes Soul’s skin, but it succeeds in making a red mark on the back of his hand.

He retaliates immediately, driving the tip of the blade towards where Black Star’s fingers hold the knife, and hitting home.

“Ouch!” Black Star almost jumps back, but catches himself in time, since moving from his spot counts as forfeiting. Pulling his hand back, Soul waits as Black Star examines the tiny cut on his index finger.

“I’m going to get you for that one,” Black Star declares. He swings the knife forward, and Soul swung his arm forward as well, blades crashing together.

He’s sporting two cuts on his fingers and several tiny punctures on his palm and the back of his hand by the time he forces Black Star’s knife from his hand. Bouncing on the balls of his toes, he waits for Black Star to retrieve the knife before taunting him.

“What was that you said about making me regret fighting you?” he asks, continuing to bounce in place.

Black Star gives him a determined grin. He’s worse off than Soul, trickles of blood dripping from the many cuts dotting his fingers and hand. “I haven’t given up yet, have I?”

Grinning back, Soul takes up his fighting stance again, pulling his free hand behind his back.

The sun is well on its way to dipping below the horizon by the time they come to a stop. Soul sucks in a breath, wincing from the barrage of cuts covering both of hands. Most of the blood has dried, although there are a few cuts that are still oozing blood.

“Think we’re going to have to call this one a draw.” Black Star examines his hands, which are similarly streaked with blood. Holding out a hand for Soul’s knife, his expression becomes almost nervous. “Hopefully, Kid isn’t home yet.”

“What, he’s going to scold you if you get blood on the floor?” asks Soul as they head for the stairwell.

Black Star shoots him a glare he’s never seen before. “It’s not that, but I care about what he thinks.” He trails off temporarily. “And you know, this probably wasn’t very smart.”

Soul falls quiet; the self-destructive urge has disappeared, but something still crawls in his skin.

“You can blame it on me if you want,” he says as they start to walk down the stairwell. “I don’t care.”

He lets out a slight scoff. “Dude, I make my own decisions and I can take responsibility for them,” he says. He pauses on the landing leading to his apartment floor. “Besides, I had a blast.”

Holding out a fist, he adds, “And it’s still good to know I can kick your ass on Demontower and Knife Fight.”

Soul bumps the fist Black Star holds out after a moment. “I’ll get you on Demontower eventually.”

“In your dreams, dude.”

The smell of pasta hits Soul as they enter the space between the living room and the kitchen.

“Shit,” Black Star mutters. He looks down at his hands, as if there’s anything he can do about them, but Kid comes from around the kitchen before he or Soul can do anything.

“Hello, Soul.” Kid greets him with a nod while he stoops to give Black Star a kiss on the cheek. A slight frown forms as he notices the tension in the air; his gaze travels down to Black Star’s hands, where the knives are still clutched in his fingers, and then to Soul’s.

His eyes widen and his frown deepens as he takes Black Star’s hands. “What happened?”

“We were playing around with the knives,” says Soul. It’s impressive to him that his cowardice abandons him only when he’s actively trying to screw up his life. “It was my idea.”

Realization dawns on Kid’s face. “Knife Fight?” he asks.

Black Star nods.

The frown on Kid’s face doesn’t deepen, but something closes in his expression just a little bit. “You know Mr. Perkett isn’t going to want you working in the store with open cuts.”

The guilt grows on Black Star’s face, even as he tries to shrug it off. “I’ll wear gloves,” he says. “And since I get to the store before Mr. Perkett, he won’t even know I have cuts on my hands.”

Kid doesn’t argue any further, instead nodding over to the kitchen. “There’s a first-aid kit under the sink.”

By the time Soul and Black Star clean and have bandaged themselves up, the stiffness in Kid’s face has disappeared, meaning he’s either compartmentalized or let go of the knife situation. He hands Black Star a bowl of steaming spaghetti while he nods at the glasses on the counter, plates in his own hands. “Soul, would you mind getting the drinks?”

“Not a problem.” It takes some effort for Soul to bend his fingers since they’re all covered in band-aids, but he manages it, balancing the glasses carefully. He nearly drops a glass as he sets them on the table, but he catches it in time.

“Please serve yourself as much as you’d like.” Kid holds out a pair of tongs to Soul as he sits. “It’s not my best go with this meal, but hopefully it’s passable.”

“He’s being modest,” says Black Star, seizing a piece of garlic bread from where it sat atop a pile of bread on a plate in the middle of the table. Between bites, he adds, “Kid makes the best pasta out of everyone I know and every place I’ve been, and that includes Olive Garden.”

A sound that’s the closest thing to a laugh that Soul’s ever heard from Kid tumbles out of his mouth. “That last part isn’t a compliment.”

“Then focus on the first part.”

While they go back and forth, Soul tries the spaghetti tentatively, and then goes back for a second and third bite. Interrupting the two, he says to Kid, “If I had the money, I’d make you my personal chef.”

“See?” Black Star shoots at Kid. “It _is_ good.”

He shakes his head. “You told him it’d taste good so he expected it to be good when he tasted it.”

“You need to stop doubting yourself.” Black Star sighs, but doesn’t persist beyond that. There seems to be more to the conversation than just the food, and it gives Soul the distinct feeling of being the third wheel.

“Maybe that’s what you should do when you move to South Harbor,” he says, winding his fork around another loop of spaghetti. The resentment of being left behind resurfaces. “Open your own chain of pasta restaurants.”

Kid gives him a faint smile. “I appreciate the encouragement, but I don’t think the culinary arts is where my future career lies.”

“So _what_ do you plan to do once you move?” asks Soul. He tries mustering what he remembers of Kid’s interests or what he knows about Kid at all, but the truth of the matter was that he had rarely talked to him outside of band practice, and when he did, it had never been without Black Star, Maka, or Jackie present.

“The main thing is for us to get a stable footing first,” Kid says, trading a glance with Black Star. “So we’ll probably be working for a while. If it’s an office job, I could probably work my way up.” His shoulders come up in a small shrug. “But I’d like to go back to school. Maybe study architecture or business or both.”

Soul nods, unsure of what to respond since he had mostly asked Kid that question in an attempt to throw him off. Not to mention that for someone who barely had the vaguest idea of what he was doing in the next hour, the confirmation that some people actually planned out their lives was more than mind-boggling.

Karma comes for him a little later, when they’re nearly done with the meal.

“What do you plan on doing now that you’ve returned?” Kid asks him. “Did you transfer to a college closer to home or do you have...other plans?”

“I just got back so I’m still figuring things out.” He tries not to act like his insides aren’t shriveling up, forcing down another bite of spaghetti. “Just enjoying the free time for now, I guess.”

The understanding in Kid’s eyes tells Soul that he reads the true answer in his words, and for an instant, he’s back on that stage.

“At least you have two years of college under your belt,” says Kid, scraping the last of his spaghetti onto his fork. “That’s a good place to start.”

“Yeah.” The air in the room is too thin, not giving him enough oxygen to process what he’s agreeing to. Somewhere in his head, it occurs to him that Kid is probably trying to be encouraging.

“In the meantime, you could always hang around the Shake Shack,” Black Star chimes in, poking him in the shoulder. “It gets boring when I’m the only one on shift.”

His nod here is much more enthusiastic as the memory in his head recedes, although he notices how Kid’s eyes shift to Black Star’s band-aid covered hands and the small frown on his face.

“Well, that was probably the best meal I’ve had in ages,” says Soul as he stands and takes his plate to the kitchen. “You should really rethink the no culinary career thing.”

“Thank you.” Kid accepts his compliment without self-deprecation this time as they stack plates in the sink, while Black Star finishes clearing the rest of the table. He glances at Soul. “You’re the only one outside of Star who has had my cooking, so I might have to believe him when he says it’s good.”

There’s something in the way that Kid’s face softens when he mentions Black Star that makes something in Soul twinge painfully. “You should.”

It intensifies when Black Star joins them, leaning into Kid’s side at the sink and resting his head on his shoulder. “What are you talking about?”

“Black magic and death cults.” Soul clears his throat and moves away, heading back to the dining area. “Anyways, I should probably go.”

“Already?” Black Star breaks away from Kid, frowning at Soul. “We only played one round of Demontower.”

“My parents wanted to have some family quality time,” he lies. Mentioning his parents reminds him of the fact that he hasn’t seen his father since yesterday and that he hasn’t seen his mother at all.

“I think that’s sweet,” interjects Kid. “It has been a long time since they’ve seen you, after all.”

Black Star sighs but he doesn’t argue. “Fine,” he says. He holds his fist. “See you at band practice?”

Unbidden, Maka’s face crops up in Soul’s head. He bumps his fist against Black Star’s. “Tomorrow,” he agrees.

* * *

It’s only when he’s outside of the building that Soul remembers his bike is currently in the trunk of Black Star’s car.

A bitter sort of wind bites at his face as he kicks the side of the building. “Shit.”

For a long moment, he stares up at the apartment, debating. Then, he turns and starts walking down the sidewalk. It wasn’t that bad of a walk from his house to town, no matter how much he had complained to Wes last night.

He still pulls out his phone and contemplates calling him, however, to see if he’s on his way home from work. At lunch, he hadn’t picked up when Soul called, and neither of his parents had come downstairs before he left, which meant, outside of the short run-in with Kim, Black Star and Kid were the only people he had an extended interaction today.

“Hey, you’re that one kid, aren’t you?”

A voice pulls him out of his thoughts, and he stops, eyes adjusting to the growing dark as he gets a whiff of cigarette smoke.

“Over here.”

He turns, spotting the five teenagers leaning against the wall of a building. All of them are smoking, though they appear to be very new at it, judging by the awkward way they hold their cigarettes. They’re also all staring at him with the curious, judgemental stare that only teenagers can give.

His gaze flicks over them, landing on the teenager in the middle, who seems the most confident. “What do you want?”

The teenager balances his cigarette between his index and middle fingers, studying Soul for another second before he speaks. “You’re that one kid, right?” he repeats. His voice still has that naselly ring from puberty. “From a few years ago?”

“You’re going to need to be less vague,” answers Soul, even though he can see very well where this is leading. “I suggest using a thesaurus.”

A sneer forms on the teenager’s face. “You’re the kid who lost his mind and nearly pummelled that violinist’s face in while you were performing, aren’t you?” Even though he poses it as a question, his tone makes it a statement.

Oddly, the thing that itches underneath his skin doesn’t come alive. Instead, Soul nods, leaning in towards the teenagers conspiratorially. “I’ll let you in on a secret, too,” he says, lowering his voice so they’re forced to lean in as well.

He waits a beat before he speaks, and when he does, it’s in such a quiet voice that the teenagers are practically butting their heads with his. “I’m not supposed to be outside.”

Pulling back, Soul gives them a wide smile, taking pleasure in seeing the way the teenagers’ face blanch, even the leader’s, before he presses a finger to his lips and continues on his way.

His heart is beating hard enough to come out of his chest as he walks away.

He’s nearly at the border between the apartments and Maple Hills before his heart rate begins to slow, although it shoots right back up again at the sound of another voice in the dark.

“Bit late to be walking out alone, isn’t it?”

This voice comes from the squat, two-floor apartment building on Soul’s right, weathered and teasing, but not malicious. Soul squints up into the growing dark.

“God?” he calls.

“Not quite.” He gets a better sense of where the voice comes from this time, and searches the dark, eventually spotting the face of Miss Mabea peeking out from the roof of the building. “Though you might get a glimpse of them through my telescope.”

“I thought the bible called God a he,” Soul says.

Mabea’s face appears skeletal in the descending night. “I don’t go to church often.”

“Neither do I.”

The old woman studies Soul for a long moment. “If you’d like to come up, the fire escape is on your right,” she says, disappearing from view.

Soul doesn’t hesitate much before following her direction, taking the fire escape’s rickety steps two at a time, out of breath by the time he reaches the top.

The roof of Mabea’s apartment is much wider than Black Star’s, and much cleaner as well. It isn’t hard to spot her observatory, mounted on a homemade pier in one of the roof’s corners. He approaches the observatory, barely noticing Mabea standing next to it.

The observatory resembles an oversized doghouse, built out of wood and metal siding. Towards its front stands an expensive-looking telescope while the observer sits snugly next to it, leaving just enough room for one person to maneuver around.

Looking up at Mabea, Soul asks, “How long did it take you to make this?”

“I built it over the summer,” the old woman replies, righting her glasses. “I’d always wanted to have one, and as I near the end of my night, it dawned on me that there was no reason that I shouldn’t.”

“Hence the courage to steal a school telescope.”

“It’ll be returned in due time,” she says dismissively. “Now,” she gestures to the observatory, “would you like to take a look and tell me what you find?”

“You don’t have to ask me twice.” Soul has to stoop in order to fit himself in the observatory’s entrance, but he’s able to stand comfortably once inside. There’s a row of books on space and different mythologies that runs along the long side of the observatory, and he glances through the titles before taking a seat on the stool sitting in front of the telescope.

He moves the telescope slowly, calling back up the bits of instruction he remembered when he took Mabea’s class. There aren’t as many stars to see here as there were from his house, but there’s still enough to trace patterns of white and silver across the night.

For several minutes, he trawls the sky, coming to a stop at a patch of stars.

“Okay, I think I have something,” he calls. The constellation looks familiar; from his memories, he can almost hear Maka saying its name. “It looks like a fish, but it’s got horns.”

“The Sea Goat.” Mabea’s voice comes out muffled from one of the observatory’s sides. “It was also called the Gateway of the Gods since all living souls would have to pass through it after dying.”

“So it’s the universe’s gravestone.”

“If you prefer to think of it that way.”

Silence falls as Soul goes back to searching through the sky. “I think I remember this one,” he says after a couple of minutes, staring at the six stars arranged in a crosslike shape. “Cygnus, I think?”

“The Northern Cross or the Swan,” Mabea confirms. “He allowed himself to be turned into a swan so he could retrieve his lover’s body from where he drowned in a river, and for that, the gods immortalized his image in the sky.”

Soul ignores the stinging in his chest as he moves the telescope away from the constellation. “I think I would have preferred to have the lover back.”

“Even when you do everything right, the gods are still fickle,” is all Mabea replies.

He suddenly has an overwhelming desire to be in his bed, unconscious, but he attempts to be polite. “Alright, one more.”

It takes him longer than before to find another recognizable cluster of stars, and even when he does, the constellation’s name eludes him. “I don’t think I’ve ever found this one through the telescope before,” he says aloud. “There’s nine stars, and one end makes a triangle while the other ends in a tail, I think.”

“The Mad Dog,” says Mabea. “A creature so fierce and out of its mind that even other monsters avoided it.”

“I guess that’s an interesting note to leave it on.” Soul scoots the stool back and rises, picking his way out of the observatory. He stretches, back aching from sitting in such an uncomfortable position for so long.

Mabea stares at him with her owlish gaze as he shakes his body awake. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

“I wasn’t looking for anything.”

The old woman glances back up at the sky. “That may be your first problem.”

He’s too tired to try to pick out what she means, a scowl pulling at his mouth like it does whenever he’s gone more than one day without a decent night’s sleep. “Thanks for sharing your observatory.”

“I’m out here most nights, except when it’s cloudy.” She nods at him as he starts to walk away. “Feel free to come back whenever you want.”

He can’t say thank you again, so he nods back. “I might.”

Night has sunken in completely, Soul notes as he jumps down from the last step of the fire escape. The sounds and lights from Town Centre are obscured from here, and there’s no sign of anyone else on the streets other than him, not even a passing car.

The wind from earlier has died as well, draping the world in a heavy silence that presses at his ears. He tucks his hands in the pockets of his hoodie as he enters the winding layout of Maple Hills. In the murk, the outlines of the houses loom like dormant monsters, the trees lining the streets like waiting shadows, stretching up clawlike branches to the sky.

He shakes the vision from his head, the result of watching too many horror movies at night. However, he still keeps alert as he continues down the sidewalk, sweeping his gaze from side to side.

It doesn’t register with Soul at first, the sound, maybe because he’s so focused on the shadows and monsters until it rings out again. He trips to a stop, lifting his head as the voice that called out to him in the forest sounds a third time, this time close enough that its echoes buzz in his ears as he whirls around.

“Hello?” The word falls stupidly from his mouth. A million explanations for the noise pop into his head: the wind, a stray cat, or a neighborhood kid playing a prank, but none of them seem quite as believable as an invisible monster. “Who’s there?”

For a long moment, nothing answers him, and he sees nothing, until a movement out of the corner of his eye grabs his attention. He catches sight of the shadow of something distinctly inhuman escaping into the bushes running between two houses.

Someone with good judgement would have ran away, while a person with good sense would have watched carefully before doing anything. Soul, however, possesses neither of these qualities, plunging into the street to chase the shadow just as the shrill shriek of wheels grinding against the street sounds in his ears.

His lack of momentum is what saves him-Soul gets a glimpse of the car that would have mowed him down as he trips over the curb of the sidewalk, breaking his fall with his hands, although his head still knocks into the concrete.

A warm wetness on his face tells him that the cut he got from the woods has reopened as he staggers to his feet. A dozen feet ahead of him, red brake lights break the night’s darkness as the car grinds to a halt and the driver comes leaping out.

“I’m so sorry!” As he rises, Soul recognizes the driver’s voice before the realization registers. “I didn’t see you, and by the time that I did-”

Maka’s face sharpens into view and she skids to a stop, expression going slack as she meets Soul’s gaze.

“I-” She fumbles for a moment, clearly struggling with the urge to spin around and go back to her car. Finally, she folds her arms across her chest. “I didn’t know it was you.”

He isn’t strong enough to resist the opening she gives him. “Are you saying you would have hit me if you had known it was me?”

“Of course not,” she snaps. For some reason, it’s gratifying to know that she still blushes when he teases her. “I already told you, I didn’t mean to-”

“Commit involuntary manslaughter?”

She throws him a dark look, although he swears that the scowl on her face has shrunk slightly.

There’s a beat of silence and then-

“Why were you even in the middle of the street?” she asks.

Telling the truth is out of the question, so he opts for deflection. “Have you ever heard the joke about why the chicken crossed the road?”

Maka raises her eyebrows, but she nods.

He makes a shrugging gesture with his hands. “That’s why.”

For a second, she looks befuddled, and then she turns her head, although he definitely catches the upward quirk of her mouth. “That makes absolutely no sense.”

“Most things don’t.”

She huffs, but doesn’t move. Meanwhile, the adrenaline rush flowing through Soul’s veins is slowly ebbing away, leaving a cold awkwardness winding in his stomach.

Shifting in one place, he says, “Well, now that we’ve established you don’t hate me enough to run me over, I should-”

“I don’t hate you.”

The words are so quiet that he would have missed them if he hadn’t been standing two feet away from her.

He blinks. “What?”

Her face is flushed as she looks him in the eye. “I don’t,” she says flatly, uncrossing her arms. “But I still don’t like you that much, and I haven’t forgiven you.”

She was always violently honest; it’s somewhat of a surprise that he feels glad for that, but it’s more comforting than the eggshells his family walks on when he’s around, and better than the isolation he feels with Black Star and Kid.

“Oh.” He shrugs. “That’s not as bad, then.”

A real smile breaks across Maka’s face, but it’s like flashfire, gone before he can confirm it, although he sees the exasperated roll of her eyes.

“Well, I’ll see you later, I guess,” he says in the silence that follows. He wonders if he should mention band practice, or spare himself until tomorrow.

Maka doesn’t take the opportunity he’s giving her to escape. “Where are you going?” she asks.

“Home,” he says, although his tone makes it come out like a question.

“You walked to town?” she says in mild disbelief, glancing at the ground around them.

“Well, I biked to town on my old bike-”

“You still have that awful thing?”

“It’s only the color that’s bad,” he says defensively. “Besides, my parents and Wes have to share the car now, so I-”

He breaks off-his parents have never openly admitted to him or Wes that they were struggling, and he doubts they would have told anyone else. “Anyways, my bike accidentally got left in Black Star’s trunk.”

Mercifully, she doesn’t comment on the accidental admission. “How did your bike end up in his trunk?”

“He invited me over for video games and dinner,” he omits the Knife Fight incident, “and I just forgot about it.”

“You forgot an entire bike?” While her words are incredulous, there’s almost a teasing tone in her voice. For a moment, she looks like she wants to give into it, but then she rounds her shoulders, straightening as she heads back to her car. “Well, come on.”

He stays rooted where he is. “What?”

“Even though it was your fault, I still almost ran you over.” She doesn’t turn back, though she glances at him as she opens her door. “The woods aren’t the safest place to be walking through at night, either.”

It’s her way of saying she still cares about him, although something aches slightly in his chest as he walks to the car, because she used to say it more directly.

* * *

It’s quiet, the first couple of minutes in the car, in the uncomfortable way it is between two people who once knew each other inside out, and now no longer know a single thing about each other.

After another moment, however, Maka breaks the silence, pointing to the glove department. “There’s some band-aids and disinfectant wipes,” she says.

“For your cut?” she says when he gives her a quizzical look. She lifts a hand halfway off the steering wheel, like she wants to inspect it, but she hesitates, pointing to the glove department again. A frown pulls at her mouth. “I was sure I didn’t hit you, but that doesn’t look good.”

“I got this from face planting into a tree two days ago,” Soul answers, taking out a band-aid, which is thankfully not as colorful as Marie’s. He examines the cut in his visor’s mirror before placing the band-aid over it. It’s going to scar at this rate, but he has the wisdom not to say that out loud.

“Is that how you got those?” Maka nods to his hands.

“No.” He decides on being evasive instead of an outright lie. “That was me being dumb.”

“Knife Fight?” she guesses.

He gapes at her. “How did you know?”

“You said you were being dumb, the cuts are mostly on your fingers, and you hung out with Black Star,” she says, ticking off the evidence with her fingers. “Plus, I know you.”

“You should become a lawyer,” he says, yielding without a fight. “You’d get a confession in minutes.”

She snorts as his parents’ house comes into view, perched on the edge of the forest surrounding the town. “I don’t think becoming a lawyer is in my future.”

Black Star’s words about Maka letting her dad think she wants to permanently run the Scythe’n’Saw echo in Soul’s head. But he’s no longer close enough to her to bring up anything that personal.

He struggles to find something to say as she pulls into the driveway, but he’s come up with exactly nothing by the time she switches off the ignition. _Does she even want me to say anything other than thank you?_

“Your parents still have sunflowers,” Maka says, unaware of Soul’s internal crisis.

“Yeah,” he says, blinking. “They’re going to be dying soon, though.”

“But they come back every summer,” she points out. “You just have to wait.”

“True,” he concedes, meeting her eyes. She wears the same leather jacket and plaid skirt that she did in high school, although she has her hair down today, which paired with the faint shadows under her eyes, makes her look older than he remembered.

_That’s what happens when time passes, you fool._

It’s only when Maka shifts in her seat that he realizes they’ve been staring at each other when she probably just wanted him to leave.

There’s the same ache from earlier in his chest as he unbuckles his seat belt. “Well, this is my stop.”

Maka’s expression becomes puzzled for an instant before smoothing out. “Right.”

Giving her a nod, Soul extracts himself from the car and closes the door, expecting her to leave immediately while a voice in his head yells at him for not thanking her.

Instead, the passenger window rolls down, Maka leaning over the console to look at him. “I’ll see you at band practice tomorrow?”

Some other feeling is mixed in with the relief flooding through Soul as he nods again; he can’t tell what it is, but it’s enough to make him think emotions aren’t that bad.

It’s also almost enough to keep the dream away tonight, but not quite.


	6. Interlude [Mad Dog]

_Lesson 6: Never let go of your weapon._

* * *

_The blood releases him after a while, which is unusual since it generally drowns him over and over again until his alarm or the sun wake him up._

_It deposits him in a place no less pitch-black than the depths it keeps him trapped in, although that may just be because he has his eyes closed. He’s lying on the ground, as far as he can tell, sharp ridges pressing into his back, though he is more than content just to lay there until the dream deems fit to start drowning him again, or wake him up-both are the same to him. Eventually, however, the numb pain coming from lying on the ground overwhelms his stubborn sense of inertia._

_The first thing he notices, as he sits up and opens his eyes, is that he is glowing. As far as dreams go, it’s not the weirdest thing that’s ever happened, though it is the first time._

_He stretches out his arm in front of him, watching the way it pushes against the dark, which continues to persist despite him opening his eyes. It’s not unlike the glow of bioluminescent algae that his biology teacher had shown his class once, outlining his body in a neon blue._

_The second thing Soul notices is the bat. It lies within arm’s reach on the ground, glowing with the same blue as he is. He doesn’t register picking it up, only that it is closer to him somehow. A falcon with his high school’s initials printed across its wings is stamped across the widest point of the bat._

_A memory he’s buried even more deeply than his grandma’s death threatens to surface; he’s careful to angle the falcon away from him as he rises to his feet, taking in his surroundings for the first time._

_Dimly, he recognizes the street in front of him as Market Street, although the street itself is angled weirdly, sloping up in a steep hill from where a blue glow burns away at the darkness, although he can’t make out what’s letting off the glow._

_All of the stores are shuttered, signs wiped blank, and emanate no glow of their own. The red and purple glow of the cars lining the street reflect in their windows. From what he can see, the stores open up to nothing but dark emptiness._

_He begins to walk, because that seems like the logical thing to do, letting the end of the bat drag against the ground. This stretch of the street is short, curving into something like a ramp as it moves up the hill._

_But he doesn’t seem to get any closer to the end of the street as he walks. It just stretches on forever, the end of the street as close as it was when he first began walking. Growing annoyed, he grits his teeth and starts walking faster, but the end of the street refuses to draw closer-instead it almost seems further away now._

_He breaks out into a full-on sprint, but the street only grows longer. When he can’t run anymore, he stumbles to a stop, gulping down air. When he recovers, he stares at the end of the street, and then to the bat in his hand._

_The crack of the window shattering reverberates in the air as Soul slams the bat into the store closest to him. It feels natural to continue smashing the rest of the store’s windows, more satisfying than he could ever imagine as he finishes with the store and moves onto the next, banging the bat into the surrounding cars._

_And it’s what the dream was waiting for, because when he looks up after thoroughly destroying a previously functional car, the end of the street is right in front of him. He glances around the wreckage of glass and other debris, fanning out from him like the arms of a hurricane, before stepping through the blue glow._

_Market Street merges into forest after he passes Tick Tock’s, traveling upward, the chain link fence that borders that end of town gone. The trees glow a faint green and violet, although their bodies are completely black._

_It reminds him too much of the voice and the shadow, and he walks quickly through the forest, keeping his eyes on the path ahead of him. He nearly trips over his feet as the ground flattens out onto the top of the hill, and he walks headlong into something metal._

_The statue of the Mad Dog stares down at Soul, echoing hollowly. Its body is a dozen metal pieces hooked together, like an oversized puzzle._

_The Mad Dog’s empty eyes are filled with the same darkness as the trees, as the blood, while the rest of its body gives off the blue glow he saw from the street. Its gaping mouth, bared in the illusion of a grin, doesn’t move, but Soul hears its voice all the same, rasping and ancient._

_“What are you looking for?”_

_Soul looks down at the bat. “I don’t know.”_

_It takes much longer to bring down the Mad Dog than it did for him to destroy the cars and stores, but when it finally topples to the ground, it doesn’t make a sound at all. Instead, there’s only an oppressive silence as the statue crumples inward._

_He breathes heavily, finally letting the bat drop from his hands. The black eyes of the Mad Dog are still visible from where its head is buried among its body, gaze burning, but it says nothing to him as he walks around it._

_A low sound rises through the air as Soul walks towards the edge of the hill; recognition sears through him, but he keeps walking until the statue of the Sea Goat materializes in front of him. It’s much smaller than the Mad Dog, although that makes it no less terrible, eyes scorching red._

_From its mouth comes the same voice he heard in the forest._


	7. Weird Autumn

_Lesson 7: Savor the good because it’s gone too soon._

* * *

It’s not because of the sun or an alarm that Soul wakes up. His chest heaves while he grasps for the notebook resting on the edge of his nightstand. The dream still clings to him as he sketches out the Mad Dog and the Sea Goat in dark, broad lines. Usually, the process of drawing out his thoughts helps him calm his mind, or repress things he doesn’t want to think about, but this time, his thoughts only grow more frantic as he draws.

When the point of his pencil breaks through the page, he stops and throws the notebook on the floor, although he immediately rises to pick it up. The gaze of the Sea Goat drills into him as he smoothes out the page. His depiction of the constellation-turned-statue doesn’t capture the blistering stare it gave him in his dream, but just looking at it makes him remember.

He doesn’t even begin to have an explanation for its voice.

And so he does the easy thing, and ignores it. There’s some resistance as the dream tries to claw at his vision when he snaps the notebook closed and goes to get ready for the day, even though it’s _far_ too early to be up, but he is nothing if not stubborn.

A fleeting thought that maybe he should talk to Wes or Dr. Stein whispers from the corner of his mind, but it vanishes as quickly as it comes.

* * *

There’s someone already in the kitchen when Soul enters. He recognizes the off-key humming of his mother as she rummages through the refrigerator.

She looks up at the sound of his footsteps. Her face brightens, though it doesn’t quite erase the exhaustion in her eyes. “Soul.”

“Hey.” He makes his way to the pantry, plucking a Gorgon Mart-exclusive box of cereal from one of the shelves. When he comes out, she’s still there, leaning against the counter. He raises an eyebrow. “Shouldn’t you be sleeping?”

His mother lifts a spoon full of ice cream in the air. “My version of a midnight snack,” she says somewhat guiltily, gesturing to the tub of ice cream sitting next to the bowl in front of her. “And an indulgence.”

Soul has never seen his mother, the woman who sent him sliced carrots and apples as a recess snack throughout his entire elementary school years, eat any kind of dessert before, much less ice cream. It throws him off entirely, making him wonder if the train that’d taken him home had transported him to another timeline as well.

Instead of commenting on it, he takes a spot by the counter sink. “It’s been two days since I got back.”

“I know,” she says apologetically. She moves away to dig in a drawer, pulling out a bowl and handing it to him. “I looked in on you when I got back on my shifts, but you were always asleep, and I didn’t want to wake you.”

Taking the bowl, Soul is silent as he pours the cereal into it. He’s supposed to say something to that, but a voice in the back of his mind tells him that she hadn’t wanted to see him at all. She was the one who had fought with the financial aid office, after all. Maybe they had told her about the straight F’s he had gotten last semester, or read aloud the probation warnings his counselor had emailed him.

Before he can move any more forward in the spiral of overthinking, she speaks again, back by the fridge and pulling out the gallon of milk. “I did want to talk with you sooner, but I know you also like taking your time and having your own space.”

“Is that why you didn’t tell me about you getting another job?” he asks as he grabs a spoon from the drying rack in the ink. He’s not sure why he’s so irritable-so far, he’s gotten off relatively easy with everyone he left behind, including Maka, but there’s something inside him that itches and rankles at him. “Or why Dad didn’t even know when I was coming home?”

His mother pauses in holding out the milk. Now that she’s closer, he sees the silver streaks in the dark hair that neither he nor Wes inherited. He can also see the steely look in her eyes that promised trouble for whoever was on the receiving end.

“If you had called or emailed us back, I would have told you then, but you barely called during the breaks and holidays,” she says heatedly, setting the milk down with a loud thud. She looks like she wants to say more, but she breaks off, taking a deep breath. When she speaks again, it’s in a gentler tone. “If you had come home during summer break, you could have told us that you wanted to come home-”

“I don’t want to talk about that,” he interrupts. He mirrors her, taking a deep breath, before he speaks again. “College just wasn’t my path,” he says, echoing what Wes told him the morning he came back. “I probably could have figured it out sooner, but the end result is still the same.”

She rolls her eyes. “You sound like your father.”

He almost snorts. “I guess that means you raised me well or something.”

“Or something.” She hands him the milk, then glances at the clock. “Have you seen your brother? He was supposed to be heading out by now.”

“Did I hear someone talking about me?” Wes asks as he enters the kitchen, a thermos of coffee in his hands. He starts slightly at the sight of Soul. “I didn’t know you were such a morning person, little brother.”

“I live to spite other people’s expectations,” he says, dodging the hand reaching out to ruffle his hair as Wes passes to greet their mother with a hug.

“Don’t spite them too much.” The joking tone fades as Wes looks at their mother. “I’ll probably be home late. Most of the stores are staying open late for the HarvFest sales.”

“I remember that ordeal,” she says with a sigh. “Your father and I will take the bus. Just make sure to drive carefully.”

“Always.” Wes pulls away and heads for the garage. He’s more successful this time in ruffling Soul’s hair. “See you later.”

Soul and his mother are quiet after Wes leaves; he picks up spoonfuls of soggy cereal and lets them spill back into the bowl, his appetite gone. There’s the sound of a spoon scraping against the bottom of the bowl next to him, then the gentle click of the bowl being set down in the sink.

“I’m going to head back to bed,” his mother says after she’s put away the tub of ice cream. Even though Soul’s not looking at her, he can feel her eyes on him. “What are you going to do?”

“Band practice,” he answers, this time with real enthusiasm. “Chain Resonance is back and kicking.”

“How fun.” A relieved expression crosses her face. “I’m glad Star and Maka are still here for you,” she says. “It’s such a shame that Jackie left before you could reconnect.”

“She might come back,” he replies with more force than he means to. “But at least, the band can still play.”

“Right.” She hesitates in the middle of the kitchen entrance. “Tomorrow’s my and your father’s day off, and I usually spend it volunteering at the church,” she says. “We’re preparing for HarvFest, which I know you love going to. Would you like to come help?”

It’s a peace offering, though for what, he can’t tell, since he’s the one that’s screwed up.

He picks up another spoonful of cereal. “So long as this isn’t a trap to get me to go to church on a regular basis, consider me sold.”

“No, no.” His mother laughs, a real laugh. “I promise I’ll be much more direct about that.”

* * *

It’s sometime after eight o’clock when Soul crosses the bridge leading to town. There aren’t as many people out as there were yesterday; he stops by the Shake Shack first, although quickly makes an about-face when he sees Tsugumi’s dark hair through the window.

He flounders for a few minutes, walking aimlessly back down Market Street. His plan had been to get his bike back from Black Star, and then either spend the time before band practice hanging out at the Shake Shack or trolling around town on his bike. He supposes he could still do the latter, and walk instead of bike, but the idea isn’t as appealing. Nor does he want to go back to a house where it feels like a mausoleum, with his parents sleeping like the dead in their room.

“That cut doesn’t look any better.” Marie seems to appear out of nowhere, arms planted on her waist. “You haven’t been taking any more late night excursions into the woods, have you?”

“People generally greet each other before jumping into interrogations,” Soul informs Marie. The expression on her face tells him that she’s in stern aunt mode today. “And this is from something entirely different, although it was probably no less stupid.”

“That doesn’t make me feel any better,” she says, eyeing the bandages covering his hands. “You don’t do much to take care of yourself, do you?”

“There’s not much of a point in it, is there?” he answers, shrugging. He’s being rude again, but like with everything recently, he can’t bring himself to care much. “We all die, so might as well live now.”

Marie frowns. “That’s a poor attitude to take when there are people who care about you.”

He bites back the obvious reply. “Is the interrogation over?” he asks, pointing to the store next to him without looking at it. “Because I have some errands to run.”

Marie’s eyebrows lift as she looks at the store he’s pointing at. “You have something you need to buy from the Scythe’n’Saw?”

His existence is the universe’s version of a joke-he suspected it before, but he knows it now. He attempts to keep his facade up as he nods. “My dad asked me to pick up some tools for him.”

“Oh.” Marie looks almost impressed, which is a poor testament to how capable she believes he is. “That’s nice of you to do.”

“I try, and sometimes I succeed.”

She stops him as he starts to walk away. “There’s been a couple of transients in the area,” she says, tugging on her eye patch. “I was always finding you in the woods when you were younger, so I just wanted to warn you to be careful.”

“Oh.” It’s his turn to not know what to say. “Hasn’t there always been a couple homeless people around?” he asks.

“Yes,” Marie sighs, “however there was someone who disappeared several weeks ago, and another person vanished last month.” He knows she’s referring to Jackie, but she doesn’t elaborate more than saying, “The parents of the person who left last month are insisting they wouldn’t run away, but all of the evidence points to both cases being runaways.”

“Well, you can’t know they ran away for certain, right?” Soul challenges. “Did they leave a note?”

“No,” Marie concedes after a moment. “But I’ve seen many runaway cases before, and they started similarly.”

“People aren’t the same though,” he argues. He’s digging himself in a hole he’s not even sure he wants to be in. “You can’t base your judgement off previous cases.”

“There you are.” The door to the Scythe’n’Saw creaks as Maka steps out of the store, coming up behind Soul. She has her hair down today, too, flipping it over her shoulder as she glances at him. “I was waiting for you.”

Soul is too shocked to do anything other than gape at her like a fish. Fortunately for him, Marie is looking at Maka.

“You were waiting for him to pick out tools?” Marie sounds confused.

Unlike him, Maka is quick on the take. “There are a lot of different brands that we carry and Soul is hopeless at picking the right thing.”

The last part feels like personal jab, but he accepts it without comment.

Marie looks from Maka to Soul, and an odd look crosses her face, almost mischievous understanding. “Fair enough,” she says, easing back. “Have fun picking out tools.”

With her still watching, Soul has no choice but to follow Maka into the Scythe’n’Saw. There’s the faint smell of sawdust and metal, though he also gets a whiff of her shampoo as she pushes her hair back again.

Maka goes behind the register, peeking through the front window. “I think she left,” she says, looking back at him. “What were you arguing with her about?”

“Why did you come out?” he blurts out before she’s even finished her question.

A confused frown spreads across her face. “Did you want to be arguing with the chief of police?”

He blinks. “Not exactly.”

“Then all you need to be doing is thanking me.” She shifts her attention to a clipboard holding a complicated-looking spreadsheet in place. “And consider us even for last night.”

“Even?” he repeats before he puts the pieces together. “You already told me it was an accident so you don’t owe me anything,” he says after a beat. “If anything, I’m the one who owes you.”

“I got over that a long time ago,” she answers without taking her eyes off of the clipboard-the top of her cheeks turn a faint shade of pink, but there is a healthy level of sarcasm in her voice. “But thank you for the offer.”

The same awkward rift that filled the space between them at the Bid-n-Vid two days ago surfaces again, like last night hadn’t happened at all. His nails dig in his palms-he is nowhere near brave enough to bring up what happened, but he can’t leave either for some reason.

“Well, I can still help because I want to,” he says, glancing around the store. There’s no sign of Spirit, which is unusual. “With organizing or stocking or whatever else you need.”

“I’ve already finished organizing and stocking for today,” she says, still looking at the clipboard. Her defenses are so high up she might as well have built a wall. “Anything else that needs doing are things that would need so much direction that I’m better off doing it myself.”

“Even sweeping?”

Finally, she looks at him, setting the pencil down. She drills him with a hard glare before she speaks. “Do you really expect you can just show up after three years, act like nothing has changed, and everyone will still treat you the same?”

He says nothing because he deserves all of her anger, and because it’s impossible for him to be as open as she’s asking him to be, but his silence only makes her bristle more.

“Well?” she demands.

“I didn’t mean it,” he says, which is about as honest as he can be.

She shakes her head sharply. “I don’t want to talk about that.”

Their conversation is interrupted by the chime of the bells against the glass door. They break apart, Soul belatedly realizing how close they had leaned towards each other subconsciously.

“Not interrupting anything, am I?” a voice drawls.

Maka levels a glare harder than the one she gave Soul at the person standing in the doorway. “What can I help you with, Giriko?”

“That’s not a very golden customer service attitude,” he replies, making his way to the counter. He rests his elbows on it, leaning towards her. “Maybe you should try smiling.”

Maka does not smile, but pushes away from the counter. “Your lawnmower is in the back,” she says flatly. “I’ll go get it.”

“Hurry back,” he calls.

Soul stares at the display of gum and candy sitting on the counter as Maka disappears to the back of the store, feeling Giriko’s gaze turn on him. In high school, he was the bully every student evaded, even some of the adults had, and that clearly hadn’t changed in the time Soul was gone.

“Hey, you’re that crazy kid,” he says, slapping the counter. “I thought they locked you up in the hospital.”

He doesn’t answer because he knows how Giriko will react if he does, although there is a small part of him that wants it to happen.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Giriko squinting at his face. “Did you do that to your face or was it one of the other loonies?”

His voice sours when Soul stays silent. “You didn’t go deaf when you smashed that kid’s face, did you?”

“No,” Soul replies as he reaches his threshold for biting his tongue, throwing self-preservation out of the window. “You’re just boring.”

Giriko seizes him by the collar, slamming him back against the counter while his other arm swings back. There’s something in Soul that welcomes the incoming punch, even as he closes his eyes and braces himself.

“What the hell are you doing?”

Soul’s eyes fly open to see Giriko’s fist dropping away from his face, turning his head to see Maka standing in the doorway leading to the back. She drops the handle of the cart carrying Giriko’s lawnmower, striding towards him with her fists balled.

“I don’t tolerate bullshit or the mistreatment of anyone in my shop,” she spits, jabbing a finger in his face.

He tilts his head to one side. “Isn’t this still your daddy’s shop or has he kicked the bucket already?”

Soul’s never seen someone with a plainer death wish. From seemingly nowhere, Maka produces a wrench in her hands, using it to point violently at the door. “Get out.”

“Gladly,” he says, lips curling into a grin as he gives her a onceover. “But I’ll need a pair of strong arms to help me lift my lawnmower into my truck.”

“I can help him.” Soul speaks mostly to keep Maka from committing murder, but also because a plan has suddenly sprung to life in his head.

Maka blinks as she looks at him, like she forgot he was there. “What?”

“I’ll help him,” he repeats, meeting Giriko’s eyes. He glances at Maka, hoping she can still read his face like she used to. “I once got an eight minute mile once so that counts for strong legs.”

It’s quiet for a moment, and then Maka nods. “Yeah, I think Soul would be able to help you a lot better than I can.”

It is the worst lie she’s ever said, but Giriko scowls. “Fine,” he says, stomping towards the door. “Truck’s outside.”

Maka helps Soul wheel the cart through the store, who has exactly as much leg strength as he does arm strength, which means none at all. He thinks she’s not going to talk to him at all, when she says in a low voice, “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

He doesn’t think she means it in the way sounds, but it still hits in the place where he’s buried everything. The cart sticks on the floor partition of the doorway as they push it outside and he focuses on that as he replies, “You’re not going to need to call the cops if that’s what you’re asking.”

She sounds mortified enough for him to know she didn’t mean it that way. “No, I didn’t-”

The cart pulls free of the door as he interrupts. “But you may need to call the doctor.”

A half-formed sentence starts to come out of her mouth when Giriko calls from where he stands next to his truck. “Are you honestly going to take all day with that?”

“It may have speeded things along if you helped,” Soul answers as they come to a stop behind Giriko’s open truck bed. “But I understand if you wanted to save your strength.”

The stare that Giriko gives him says that he’d be a dead man in any other situation, but Soul can’t feel much fear from the thought, although he does feel slightly apprehensive when Giriko’s scowl turns into a grin.

“Alright,” he says, nose piercing glinting in the sun as he positions himself in front of the cart. “I don’t want the lawnmower to scratch my bed so you’ll need to come up and help me lift it all the way in.”

His grin widens as he says this; he knows just as well as Soul does that it’s barely possible for him to hold the lawnmower for ten seconds.

Soul doesn’t protest, however, giving a shrug. Ten seconds is all he needs anyways.

It’s easy enough to lift the lawnmower from the cart, despite his immediately screaming muscles, but Giriko lets go of the machine with one hand as they navigate towards the bed, smacking his forehead. “Silly me, I should have been standing in the bed, not the ground.”

“You realize that now?” Soul wheezes as he feels someone rushing up behind him. Maka’s shoulders bump with his as she takes hold of the lawnmower.

She smiles up at Giriko, though it’s more of a shark’s grin. “Go ahead.”

His scowl is back, but he says nothing, climbing onto the truck bed and grabbing the handles of the mower.

“You might want to step back,” Soul mutters to Maka, who instantly retreats, any conflict she had about what he is about to do clearly gone.

“Hurry up,” Giriko grunts. “Lift it high.”

He obliges, raising the machine as high as he can and waiting until Giriko’s foot is lined up exactly with the wheel of the lawnmower to let go.

“Oops,” he says calmly as Giriko’s yells, mixed with curses, fill the air while the lawnmower falls to one side with a loud clang, definitely promising more than a scratch. “Guess I’m not as strong as I thought.”

* * *

“I’m pretty sure he’s going to sue you,” Maka says as they watch Giriko’s truck speed away through the store window. She’s on the same side of the counter as Soul, which makes it somewhat difficult to focus on what just happened.

“Let him.” He shrugs. “He can have my student loans.”

A laugh, a small one, barely more than a giggle, escapes from her mouth. “I’ve been dealing with that asshole for years. I should have accidentally dropped a toolbox on his head ages ago.”

“You should have a ‘no assholes allowed’ sign by the door,” he says. “Like the ‘no shirt, no shoes’ one.”

“That’s what the ‘we reserve the right to refuse service’ one means, Soul.”

It’s the first time she’s said his name, which makes his heart do a very weird leap. He can say nothing, only meet her gaze, and then he remembers what they had been talking about before Giriko came in.

“I guess I better go,” he says, straightening and thinking he might try to hunt down Black Star even though he’ll be seeing him in a few hours.

“Right.” Maka doesn’t look as pleased at him going as he thought she would. “Busy day of-”

“Doing nothing,” he supplies. He should be going to the door, but his feet are not complying. “At least, until band practice.”

She nods, which he supposes is the end of it, and he forces himself to move towards the exit.

“Hang on.”

His heart does another leap as he turns and waits as Maka takes a couple of steps toward him.

She crosses her arms. “I don’t know if we’re friends or anything, anymore,” she says, almost meeting his eyes but not quite. She hesitates before adding, “But I guess while I’m still deciding, I could put you on friendship probation.”

He blinks. “Friendship probation?”

“Meaning you can call me someone you know and talk to, but not a friend yet,” she says. “Maybe. You have to earn it.”

It’s more than he would have asked for. “Deal.”

“Excellent.” A light gleams in Maka’s eyes. “First step in getting off probation is sweeping the floors.”

* * *

Sometime after eleven-thirty, the door to the Scythe’n’Saw crashes open, and Soul drops the screwdriver in his hands, half-expecting to see Giriko charging at him.

At the cash register, Maka starts, eyes widening. “What on earth-”

Black Star’s rainbow-colored hair reflects the store’s light like a multi-colored Christmas ornament as he skids to a halt in front of them. “There you are,” he says, planting his hands on his knees and taking a deep breath before straightening. He points at Soul with one finger. “Why don’t you answer your Skype messages?”

“Why do you keep manhandling my door, even when I keep telling you?” Maka grouses at him as she goes over to the door, which is jammed open.

“Why didn’t you answer my text asking if Soul was with you?” Black Star retorts.

Maka pulls the door free. “I don’t check my phone when I’m working.”

This answer surprises Soul since he’s pretty sure he saw her glancing at her phone once while he helped clean up the store. He says nothing, though it’s clear Black Star doesn’t believe her either by the way while he raises his eyebrows at Soul.

He lifts his shoulders in a half-hearted shrug, but otherwise ignores the unspoken question. “I don’t have Skype on my phone, to answer your question.”

“Have you not heard of downloading the app?”

“I forgot my password,” he answers, which is an incredibly flimsy excuse, even for him. He comes back with a question of his own before Black Star can call him out on it. “Why weren’t you at the Shake Shack when I went looking for you earlier?”

A sheepiness mixed with guilt crosses Black Star’s face, and he glances at Maka instead of answering right away.

“I already know,” she says as she returns to the register. “Neither of you are masters at subtlety.” Her words are chastising, but there is concern on her face as she looks at Black Star. “Did you clean the cuts before you put the band-aids on?”

“Kid’s taught me well,” says Black Star before glancing at Soul. “Anyways, it turns out that he may have had a point about not handling food with so many cuts so I called in sick.”

It’s impressive how much guilt needles at Soul, although he does an equally impressive job of not letting it show. “You deserve a day off,” he says, picking up the screwdriver he dropped. “You work so much.”

“Because he’s working towards moving out,” Maka interjects, giving Soul a look before addressing Black Star. “And weren’t you saving your sick days for when you move?”

“One day doesn’t make that much of a difference,” Black Star replies, although his expression turns vaguely guilty. “Besides, now we can do band practice earlier since Kid gets out at one.” He brightens suddenly. “Hey, let’s go to Tick Tock’s for a pizza, we haven’t done that in forever.”

Soul nods, but Maka shakes her head. “I’ve still got a lot to do. It’s enough that I close early to go to band practice.”

“Come on,” Black Star wheedles. “You always say no to anything fun.”

“That’s because I take my responsibilities seriously.”

“Does responsibilities mean you’re not allowed to enjoy a pepperoni pizza?” Soul asks.

That earns him a mild glare from her, but the set expression on her face wavers. “I guess-”

The rest of Maka’s sentence is cut off by the shrill ring of the store’s telephone. She sighs, pushing herself away from the counter. “I’ll be right back.”

Black Star turns to Soul as soon as Maka is out of earshot. “She’s talking to you now?” he hisses.

“Kind of?” He goes back to organizing tools in their respective drawers in the toolbox resting on the rack by the register. “She almost ran me over last night so I think she feels bad about it.”

His eyes almost bug out. “She ran you over?”

“Almost,” Soul corrects. He doesn’t mention the incident with Giriko. “And it was on accident.”

It’s temporarily quiet as Black Star processes this. “So, you’re friends again?”

“Not quite,” he says, running out of tools to sort. “More like friendship probation.”

He snorts. “That seems like a fancy label for saying she wants to be friends, but she’s also mad as balls at you.”

“That’s also probably accurate.”

Maka emerges from the back, sweeping her hair into a ponytail. “That was Mr. Selmers,” she says, pulling a toolbox from underneath the register. “His heater went out again so I’m going to go check it out.”

“You do repair calls now?” Soul interrupts.

“My dad needed the help after I graduated, and it pays better money than what the store sells sometimes,” she replies, fixing a faded cap with the Scythe’n’Saw’s logo on it. There’s a tightness in her voice that wasn’t there even when she yelled at Giriko or got angry with Soul.

“Obviously that means I can’t go to Tick Tock’s, but I already brought lunch from home anyways.” There’s a sliver of disappointment in her eyes, but it vanishes before Soul can say anything.

“I should be back by two,” she informs Black Star. “I’ll text you when I’m on my way to Balloon Buster.”

At first, Black Star nods, and then his eyes light up again. “We should start a new group chat,” he says, giving Soul an eyebrow waggle that he probably deems discreet, but is in fact the exact opposite. “It’ll make scheduling around any hiccups easier.”

Maka laughs once, but it’s nothing like the laugh she let out earlier, dry and sardonic. “That would work if _someone_ actually answered their text messages.”

Bewildered, Soul looks at Black Star, only to find him giving him the same look as Maka. “What?” he asks. “I never got texts from anyone.”

She gives a disbelieving snort while Black Star frowns. “Dude, I texted you many times after you went to college,” he scratches his head, glancing towards the register, “and Maka-”

“Once,” she says.

Soul blinks-he always thought they had been the ones who chose to stop talking to him, something that had stung, even though he deserved it. “I switched numbers after I left,” he says slowly, pretending not to notice how the feeling in the air changes. “I guess I figured my parents or Wes would have given you my new number.”

“Nope,” Black Star says, shaking his head. “I just thought you got busy.”

Maka is silent, resolutely looking down at the toolbox.

It seems obvious to Soul now that his parents wouldn’t have shared his number with anyone who was at the recital, but he doesn’t know how to articulate that without bringing up a slew of things that he also doesn’t want to talk about.

Instead, he says, “Well, I didn’t answer messages anywhere else either, so I guess that’s fair.” He pulls his phone from his pocket. “But I have my phone now.”

“I’ll give you Kid’s number too, he won’t mind,” says Black Star, holding his hand out for the phone. As he types in the numbers, he adds on, “But I’ll kick your ass if you start ignoring me again.”

“Duly noted.”

He panics slightly when Black Star offers the phone to Maka, but she takes it, typing quickly.

“There.” She doesn’t look at Soul as she hands the phone back to him. “Now, I really need to go, which means I gotta kick you out of my shop.”

“Harsh,” Black Star says as he swings around, heading for the door. “Have fun at the Selmers’.”

Soul starts to follow him, but he pauses, and Maka glances at him. “What is it?”

“I could save you a slice,” he says. “If you want.”

She stares at him for a moment, like it’s been a long time since someone asked her what she wanted. Then, her expression snaps shut. “No, it’s fine.”

She goes back to locking up the register. “Enjoy the pizza.”

* * *

“Maybe we should wait for Tick Tock’s until after practice,” Soul suggests as he slides into the passenger seat.

“Obviously,” says Black Star as the car peels away from the curb. “She hasn’t let herself have fun since she started working full time at her dad’s store.”

His words, along with what Soul has seen of Maka, doesn’t line up with the person who used to sneak out with him to go to the city. “Has she really changed that much?”

“No, I don’t think so,” Black Star answers after a moment. “But her world’s changed a lot.”

Guilt itches at his skin. “Oh.”

“It’s not your fault,” Black Star says, reading his mind. “Not entirely, at least.”

Soul leans back in his seat. “Well, that’s a relief.”

There’s silence for a minute, and then Black Star speaks again. “You do realize you left your bike in my car last night, right?”

“About five minutes after I left your apartment, yes.”

“Least it wasn’t after you got home.” He shakes his head. “Why didn’t you come back for it?”

Soul shrugs. “It was already late. I didn’t want to bother you.”

“Dude, you can’t have preferred to walk all the way home,” he says, rolling his eyes. “Next time, just come back.”

“I’m glad you assume there’s going to be a next time,” Soul replies. “And the walk-”

“Ended with you almost getting run over.”

“Yup.” His words remind him of what he saw last night. He thinks about what Marie told him. “Have you seen any strange people around?”

“Strange people?” Black Star repeats. “Am I supposed to exclude you from that list or not?”

“So long as you exclude yourself too.”

“Ha ha.” Black Star turns left from Market Street, the commercial stores melding into the brick of the apartment buildings. “But no, I haven’t. Why do you ask?”

“Marie said that there were some homeless people hanging around.” He hesitates before he adding on, “And I saw something moving in the bushes by the forest and Maple Hills while I was walking home. It was making a weird sound.”

“Weird sound?” Black Star raises his eyebrows. “Was it wearing a bed sheet and did it yell “boo” at you, too?”

“Shut up.” He regrets saying anything at all, but at least Black Star isn’t looking at him like he’s crazy. “I just thought that might have been who I saw.”

“There are also other things that live in the forest that are capable of making weird sounds.”

“Thank you for enlightening me about that fact,” Soul says as they turn into the parking garage.

“No problem,” replies Black Star, angling the car into a parking spot. When he pulls the key out of the ignition, he looks over at Soul. “But seriously, it’s either a homeless person like you thought, or an animal.”

“It was probably just my imagination,” Soul agrees, though it’s mostly just to close the subject.

“Definitely your imagination, dude,” says Black Star as he opens the door, “hardly anything interesting happens in Shibunsen Springs.”

* * *

At approximately two o’clock, the door to Black Star’s apartment opens, and Kid walks into the living room, where Soul and Black Star are currently talking at the TV screen and each other.

“-come on, come on,” Soul says as he throws his Palecat in a dodge against a fatal attack from the Blood Thief.

“Shut up, dude, this one is mine,” Black Star says in a strained voice as his Palecat is locked in a similar duel with the Blood Thief.

“You shut up-”

Soul’s words are cut off by the sharp hiss coming from Black Star’s side of the screen that is the Blood Thief’s death rattle. Meanwhile, Soul watches as the Blood Thief he was battling plunges his word in Palecat’s chest, though the player doesn’t fall as the battle ends, and _second place_ flashes across his screen.

“That makes it three to two,” crows Black Star as Kid comes to a stop next to his side of the couch, leaning over the armrest to kiss his forehead. “I win.”

“But I’m regaining my skill.” Soul sets down the controller. “Give it a couple weeks and you won’t remember what winning tastes like.”

“I always thought this game was more of an arcade game,” says Kid, looking at the screen. “What more is there to do after you win?”

“Watch the credits and wait for Scott Benson’s name?” Soul suggests. The creator of Demontower hadn’t actually lived in Shibunsen Springs, but the neighboring town over, though he’d lived so close to the border that the town claimed him as theirs anyways. It was the closest thing to fame they had, save for the spate of strikes that had started in the late nineteenth century and carried into the middle of the twentieth century.

“Kid is more of an open world kind of gamer,” Black Star tells him. “He still hasn’t finished the main quest in Skyrim because he won’t stop taking side quests.”

Kid’s voice is delicately indignant. “How am I supposed to save the world when there are lost pets roaming around?”

Black Star rolls his eyes, though his expression is openly affectionate.

It makes Soul think of his and Maka’s exchange before Giriko came into the store, and he speaks before he thinks about it anymore.

“Do we still dress up for Harvfest?” he asks. “Because that’s only a few days away.”

“Of course, we do, we’re not animals,” answers Black Star. His chest puffs up a little as he points to himself and Kid. “We’re going as founders John and Steve like we always do,” he says. “Standing five feet apart by a magical screen because they’re not gay.”

Soul snorts, hesitating before asking, “And Maka?”

“She still goes as the witch who yells at John and Steve for not giving her one of their beaver pelts,” Kid says.

“Oh.” He nods. “I guess I’ll dig my Palecat out of the closet.”

“Alright!” Black Star thumps the couch once. “We’ll finally have the HarvFest Four back together again.”

Soul starts to reply when his phone vibrates, Black Star’s phone buzzing in unison. He picks it up to see Maka’s name on the screen. Even though the message is sent to Black Star and Kid as well, his heart still does an exaggerated leap from his chest to his throat.

_Maka: I’m eating lunch and then I’ll be on my way_

_Black Star: sounds good we’re all at my place wanna meet here?_

_Kid: We can take our car to the Balloon Buster, if you’d like._

There’s a pause as three typing bubbles show up on Maka’s end, fading out, and then coming back again.

_Maka: No thanks, I need my car in case I get another house call_

_Black Star: workaholic_

_Maka: More like I like to eat. Which is what I’m going to do now so I’ll see you at the Balloon Buster._

_Soul: see you there!_

He curses himself for adding the exclamation point, for the entire message really, which he doesn’t know if it comes off as genuine or a contrived way to insert himself into the conversation. Either way, Maka doesn’t answer, and he forces himself to swallow the disappointment, the first time he’s felt that in a while, as he pockets his phone.

Meanwhile, Black Star leaps to his feet, doing a little dance. “Time for band practice.”

* * *

Soul takes out his bike when they get to the Balloon Buster while Black Star takes out his guitar from the backseat and Kid searches for something in the glove compartment. He fixes it securely in the bike rack between the abandoned store and the Social Security building that sits next to it.

Maka observes him from where she sits on the steps to the Balloon Buster, drumming her fingers against the laptop in her arm. “You know that no one will think about stealing that.”

“Black Star said the same thing,” he grunts as he pushes the bike lock in place, hiding his incredulity that she chose to talk to him first. He makes his way to the steps, looking at the space above her shoulder. It was easier to look at her in the store, somehow. “But Kid insisted I use the lock.”

“He likes watching out for other people,” she says, a comment that surprises Soul, since she had been about as close to Kid as he was in high school.

There’s no time to comment on it, however, as Black Star and Kid come up behind them, Kid holding up a set of keys in his hand.

Soul watches in slight amazement as Kid slots the key into the door’s lock, and twists it once, pushing the door open. “I thought we had to use a pin to open the door.”

“That was before I discovered the door to the Balloon Buster uses the same lock as the Bid-n-Vid,” answers Kid, stepping back to let them in.

The inside of the Balloon Buster looks the same as Soul remembers it, empty display racks pushed behind the cash registers covered in dust while debris litters the floor in tiny heaps, save for the space they had cleared for the makeshift platform they built for their instruments.

He picks his way to the platform, eyes falling on his old electronic keyboard. The instrument itself doesn’t bother him, but seeing it makes him think of the recital, even though he’d gotten nowhere near his piano that day.

“Marie is still okay with us practicing here?” he asks, jumping up on the platform in a bid to distract his thoughts. There’s no dust on the keys, like someone, probably Black Star or Kid, has been taking care of it.

“She just pretends she doesn’t hear the noise,” Black Star replies as he follows suit, guitar in hand. He fiddles with the strap as Maka and Kid join them. “So long as we don’t get too loud, she doesn’t care.”

“There’s not a lot she cares about as police chief,” Soul says before he can stop himself.

Kid pokes his head over the drums sitting in front of him to look at Soul. “What do you mean?”

“Well-” he fumbles for a moment, gaze flicking to where Maka stands with her laptop balanced on a rickety table that serves as her station. “There’s been someone else who’s gone missing other than Jackie.”

She frowns. “You mean Meme Tatane?”

“She missed school half of the time and always talked about going back to Texas,” Black Star says dismissively, thrumming a couple of strings on his guitar. “That’s probably where she is right now.”

“And Jackie?” Kid asks. He repeats what he said yesterday. “She wouldn’t have left without telling anyone.”

It goes silent for a moment. None of their eyes go to the place where she used to play with her bass guitar, though her absence lays heavy in the air.

“People change,” Maka says finally. “And they do things we thought they wouldn’t.”

She’s pointedly not looking at Soul when she says this, but he feels it all the same. He doesn’t know how he’s felt so much in the past two days and not exploded, except that the universe has a cruel sense of humor.

No one says anything for a beat, and then Black Star gives a sharp twang of his guitar. “Can we stop being morbid and finally get to playing?”

Kid follows his lead first. “Die Anywhere Else?”

Blinking, Soul moves to rest his hands on the keys. “Good as song to start as any.”

“Yeah, that’s fine.” Maka types something into her laptop, lifting her head to nod at Black Star while Kid raise his drumsticks.

They sound like nails running up and down a chalkboard. Black Star and Kid play fine enough, keeping in time with the song, but Soul can feel himself a beat behind while the electronic bass that comes from Maka’s laptop sounds nothing like Jackie’s bass.

It’s the singing that does them in, though, which is all of their faults since they all sing. Black Star is the best singer, but it’s drowned out by Maka’s singing, which is about as pleasant as a yowling cat; his voice is not much better, croaky from years of disuse, and Kid’s voice is passable, though he’s too quiet to make much of a difference in the end.

None of them look at each other as the song ends, a very different kind of silence filling the air.

“We sound just as horrible as we did when we started out,” Kid finally comments.

“Worse, maybe,” Maka adds, tugging on her earlobe, like she could pull out the song from her ear.

“Definitely worse,” agrees Soul. “We had an actual bass guitar back then.”

“Just because I use a computer doesn’t mean it’s not an instrument.” Maka bristles, shooting him a dark glare. “Or would you rather look for a _real_ bass guitarist?” she asks. “Since that’s so _important_ to you?”

“No, I-” Soul fumbles over his tongue-he’d only meant to agree with her, to be part of her conversation.

“This is exactly what practice is for,” interrupts Black Star, pushing his hair out of his eyes as he twists to look at them. “We weren’t going to start off sounding great after three years, along with losing Jackie. What did you expect?”

Maka shifts her gaze away from Soul, back to her laptop, and he swallows before looking back at the keyboard.

Black Star doesn’t seem to notice, although Soul can feel Kid’s eyes on him. “Let’s try it again.”

\--

By the time practice is over, they’re sounding better, but not by much. Soul says as much as Kid locks up the store, but Black Star shakes his head.

“It’s something,” he says with an excited bounce in his step as they go down the stairs to the store. “We’ll get better.”

“If you say so,” Maka replies with a shrug. She hasn’t said much since after the first song, and nothing at all to Soul. Digging in her bag, she takes out her car keys. “If we’re done, I’m going to get going.”

“Wait,” says Black Star, giving Soul a sly glance. “Tick Tock’s isn’t too far from here. Why don’t we walk over and grab some dinner there?”

She pauses. “Didn’t you go there for lunch?”

“Soul thought we should wait until we could all go together,” Black Star replies, with a certain emphasis on Soul’s name. “You can’t tell me you’re not hungry after three hours of practice.”

Maka looks at Soul in surprise; she doesn’t say anything to him nor does she smile, but there’s a tiny lightening in her expression.

“All right,” she says. “Let’s go.”

The sidewalk is narrow as they trek off in the direction of the diner; Black Star and Kid lead the way, holding hands, which leaves Soul no option but to fall in step with Maka. He glances at her out of the corner of his eye as they walk, the hazy autumn light turning her hair an even brighter kind of gold.

He watches their reflections in the store windows as they walk. Black Star and Kid are completely caught up in their own conversation, which only makes the silence that hangs between him and Maka stand out even more.

They’ve just passed Market Square when she speaks. “Did you practice the piano while you were in college?”

The question is startling; Soul almost looks around to look for who Maka is talking to when he realizes it’s himself. He clears his throat. “Not really,” he says. “I didn’t have much time.”

That last part is a lie-he’d had nothing but time in college-but he doesn’t care for explaining what looking at any kind of performance stage does to him.

“So what did you do?” she asks. There’s a curious light in her eyes she can’t seem to suppress. “Other than go to classes, I mean.”

He tries to think of an answer that doesn’t paint him as infinitely boring or lazy and comes up with nothing. “There was a party I went to once,” he says. “We played capture the flag. And there were a couple of meetings for different clubs that I went to.”

He doesn’t mention that he was tagged out of capture the flag five minutes after the game started and that he only showed up to the meetings for the free food, disappearing back to his room before the meeting began.

“I see.” Maka keeps the disappointment out of her voice, but it’s a different story with her eyes. “Was that it?”

He wishes he could be somebody else. “Pretty much.”

She nods, not saying anything else.

Suddenly, he’s desperate to keep the conversation going. “My roommate was annoying as Ox, though. I have a million stories about him.”

Her eyebrows raise. “Really?”

“He stole my food all the time and locked me out at least ten times,” he tells her. “He also had a pet rat that he hid from the RA. It got loose one time and I woke up to find it nesting in my hair.”

She makes a face, shuddering. “I would have screamed.”

“I did. Woke the whole floor too.”

She makes a noise suspiciously close to a laugh. “What happened after?”

“He tried to tell the RA it was my rat!”

“That is,” she trails off for a moment, “terrible.”

“And he played country rap all the time, which was what broke me and made me ask for a new roommate.”

“What a nightmare.” Maka goes quiet for a few seconds. “I used to think about how fun it would have been to dorm at college, but I think I’ve changed my mind.”

“Not all roommates are like that,” Soul says. “But commuting might be better for you.”

Any glow in her eyes vanishes as Maka shakes her head. “I could never manage the shop and go to college at the same time,” she says. “Not to mention affording it.”

Soul searches for something to say, something that won’t make her feel pitied or spark her anger like earlier, but by the time he comes up with something halfway good, Black Star interrupts them.

“Here we are,” he calls, pointing to the gearlike clock sitting on the top of Tick Tock’s roof ticking away. “And we’re just in time for the dinner special!”

“Joy,” Maka says as she sweeps in front of Soul, who bites back his words and follows after her.

* * *

The waitress crams them into a tight booth. Soul feels the side of his arm crash into Maka’s as he scoots in. Immediately he recoils, settling himself so there is a narrow gap of space between them, even though his leg hangs out into the aisleway.

He’s so focused on maintaining the space between them that he doesn’t register their drinks arriving or Black Star calling his name until Maka touches his arm. He nearly jumps in the air. “What?”

“Are you coming or not?” Black Star says, clearly repeating himself.

He frowns. “To what?”

“There’s going to be a party at the Fire Pit,” says Kid, referring to the large clearing in the woods that serves as the hang out spot for teenagers. “We’re going to head out at about nine, if you want to come.”

Black Star taunts him. “Unless you’re scared of the thing you saw in the woods last night showing up.”

“No,” he says hastily while at the same time Maka says with a frown, “What did you see?”

“It was just an animal or maybe a homeless person,” Soul answers, scowling at Black Star. He doesn’t want anyone staring at him like he’s lost his mind again, especially Maka. “I saw it just before you almost ran me over so I didn’t even get a good look at it.”

Maka’s frown fades. “There’s an infestation of raccoons in Maple Hills,” she says. “People have been buying raccoon traps left and right. That’s probably what you saw.”

“Exactly,” Soul says, eager to move on, as the waitress sets down a steaming pepperoni pizza along with plates on the table. “And yes, I’ll go to the party.”

“Excellent,” Black Star declares, who appears to have finally gotten the hint, and turns his attention to Maka. “That means there’s just you to convince.”

“I already told you-” Maka’s mouth closes and she shrugs. “Fine,” she says. “But you’ll need to pick me up too, my dad already claimed the car for tonight.”

“Deal,” says Black Star, and then they turn their attention to the pizza.

It tastes exactly how Soul remembers, the right balance of cheese and sauce with a rich flavor of the pepperoni that almost makes him groan out loud, having spent the last three years living off junk food and instant meals.

The pizza is devoured in the span of fifteen minutes. Soul crumples up his napkin, tossing it on his plate. “I think that is the best pizza I’ve had in years.”

“The best pizza I’ve ever had,” Kid agrees.

“And the one thing I’ll miss when we move,” says Black Star, which grinds the good moment Soul was enjoying to a halt.

“You’ll just have to visit then,” Maka replies, glancing at her phone. Her eyes widen. “Shit, I was supposed to be home already.”

Black Star thrums his fingers against the tabletop. “Let’s go pay, then.”

Maka twists, her arm brushing against Soul’s, who realizes belatedly that he had relaxed sometime during the meal and are now sitting with their sides pressed together.

Heat floods his face as he scrambles out of the booth, Maka right behind him. He spends the time it takes Black Star and Kid to scoot out digging for the twenty dollar bill that Wes had given him yesterday.

However, Black Star shakes his head when he sees the money in his hand. “It’s our treat this time,” he says, glancing at Maka as well.

“Consider it a welcome home dinner,” adds on Kid, speaking over their protests.

He and Black Star head for the counter before they can argue, but that doesn’t stop Soul from dropping the money on the table at the same time Maka does.

They look at each other in surprise, and after a few seconds, the corners of Maka’s mouth curve upwards. “I guess we still think the same way on some things,” she says as she moves away from the table.

“Yeah,” he says faintly, turning to follow her out of the diner.

The sun has set the clouds ablaze a fiery red-orange as they step outside, cloaking the world in a sharp afterglow. It nearly blinds Soul as they move off in the direction of Balloon Buster for their cars, and he brings his hand over his eyes as they start to walk. He and Maka lead the way now, and she sets a quick pace, glancing at her phone.

Soul is the one to spot the severed arm first. It’s lying directly ahead of them on the sidewalk, fingers curled towards the sky as if in some kind of futile reach for the rest of its body, although he doesn’t register it for what it is until they’re nearly on top of it. By that time, all he can do is throw out his arm to keep Maka from stepping on it.

“Hey!” Maka nearly topples backwards into Kid, and she scowls up at Soul as she regains her balance, still oblivious to the detached appendage on the ground. “What are-”

“Is that an arm?” Black Star’s yell would be enough to bring half of town to where they are, if it wasn’t for the fact that he had several shouting outbursts like this multiple times a day.

“What?” She finally looks down at the ground and lets out a jumbled shriek, scrambling backwards.

“That it is.” Kid’s reflexes are so well-practiced when it comes to his boyfriend that he’s already grabbed Black Star by the collar of his shirt by the time he takes a couple steps towards the arm. “Don’t touch it, you don’t know what diseases it could have.”

“Is that really the fact you’re choosing to zero in on?” asks Soul. He can’t seem to tear his eyes away from the arm, which is covered in a green sleeve, although it’s rolled up at the wrist of the arm, exposing mottled skin.

He gets a glimpse of Maka shaking her head rapidly out of the corner of his eye. “That can’t be real,” she says. “It’s going to be Halloween in a month, it has to be a decoration.”

“There’s only one way to find out.” The determination in Black Star’s voice makes Soul shift his gaze away from the arm. Pulling out of Kid’s grasp, Black Star picks up a stick from the grass next to the sidewalk and approaches the arm.

Kid sighs, but he doesn’t try to keep Black Star away from the arm. “I’m calling the police.”

“Good idea,” says Black Star as Soul comes to a stop next to him, right in front of the arm now. Behind him, he can feel Maka hovering on his left. He glances at her-she’s clearly disgusted by the sight on the ground, but there’s a trace of curiosity on her face too.

Black Star crouches down, holding out the stick so it’s only a couple inches away from the arm. For a fraction of a second, he hesitates. Then, he gives the arm a sharp poke.

They all gasp as the arm rolls over, its fingernails making a dull tapping sound against the sidewalk. The purple veins threading through the hand make evident that the arm indeed used to belong to someone, although the putrid smell that rises up as the arm moves crushes any remaining doubt.

“It’s real,” Maka says as she leaps back. “Oh God, it’s real.”

Soul, however, doesn’t back away, going to crouch next to Black Star. “Can I?” he asks, holding his hand out for the stick, which Black Star, eyes wide with shock, surrenders without any comment.

“What are you doing?” Maka asks in a horrified voice. “We already know it’s real!”

“I just want to see.” There’s a morbid kind of curiosity running through him; he does his best to not think of Grandma Evans as he pokes the arm and it rocks back and forth, though he’s not completely successful.

He’s still moving the arm back and forth when Marie’s patrol car comes rolling up next to them.


	8. This Awful Energy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for alcohol use in this chapter.

_Lesson 8: Solving your problems with alcohol makes alcohol your next problem._

* * *

“So it was just lying there on the middle of the sidewalk?” Wes stops in the middle of raising his fork to his mouth. “An _arm_?”

“I just said that,” Soul says, finishing off the last of his ice cream. “The skin had already turned purple and it smelled awful.”

Wes looks down at his chicken, and he puts his fork down. “What happened after that?”

“Marie showed up,” he says as he puts the bowl in the sink, omitting the lecture the officer had given him and Black Star for tampering with evidence. “She took our statements and then she shooed us away.”

“Huh.” Wes picks up his plate, hopping off his barstool by the counter, and going to the one of the drawers by the refrigerator. Fishing out a container of saran wrap, he tears off a section. “It’s gonna be hard for her to figure out what happened without a body.”

“You mean the rest of the body,” corrects Soul. “But given what we know, I’m guessing it wasn’t pleasant.”

“That’s a given.” Wes stretches, rubbing his face with a hand. True to his prediction, he hadn’t returned from work until well after eight. Soul had only gotten home shortly before him, throwing his bike in the shed and finding that his parents had already left for their shift.

Dropping his hand, Wes looks at Soul. “What do you have planned for the rest of the night?”

"I got invited to a party."

“A party?” Wes couldn’t look more surprised than if Soul had announced he was leaving home to become a clown in a traveling circus.

He sniffs. “I know I wasn’t the popular one in high school, but I would have thought my brother would have more faith in me.”

“It’s not that,” Wes says quickly. “It’s just that you never seemed like the one for parties.”

“That was then, this is now,” he replies, glancing at the time. Black Star was supposed to be here any minute, and he still hasn’t changed. “Anyways, I have to go do my beauty prep.”

An amused tone enters Wes’ voice. “There’s hair gel in the linen closet if you need it.”

“A million thank yous.”

Ten minutes later, Soul stands in front of his mirror with a container of gel in his hands, hair sticking up in the air in a way that makes him resemble a mad scientist. He’d only meant to get his hair looking back to how he styled it this morning, but somewhere he had gone horribly wrong. Briefly, he contemplates shaving his head, but instead he settles for going to the bathroom and rinsing the gel out. Without it, his hair is mostly flat, but it’s better than what it had been.

He turns his attention to his closet, peeling off his shirt, which definitely smelled of dried sweat after his bike ride back home. Drumming his fingers against the door sill, he stares at his shirts. There was no point in changing his jeans since all of his pants were varying shades of black and dark blue.

There’s a limited range of shirts that qualify as party material, and Soul spends the next several minutes agonizing over that fact, though he eventually settles on a shirt decorated with a piano keyboard on the front that’s an acceptable shade of orange.

His phone buzzes just after he pulls the shirt over his head, a car horn sounding outside.

_Black Star: ready to party hearty????_

_Soul: sure_

_Soul: be there in a minute_

Grabbing his jacket, Soul tramps down the stairs, and is stopped by Wes, who he had figured would have gone to bed by now. “Hey, can we talk for a second?”

Eager to be gone, he resists bouncing up and down impatiently. “What is it?”

“Listen, I know you’re not a little kid anymore,” Wes starts, coming within arm’s distance, “but you’re still my little brother.”

He holds back from rolling his eyes, but only barely. “I know what you’re going to say. Don’t drink and drive. Don’t be stupid.”

“I would have said reckless instead of stupid, but that’s not everything.” Wes hesitates before continuing. “I just want you to know I’m here if you want to come home or need help,” he says. “And not just for tonight, you can always call me, no matter what.”

Soul’s head fills with a sharp buzzing as Wes reaches out to touch his arm, which he yanks back before he can think. It spreads through the rest of his body as he clears his throat and ignores the hurt on his brother’s face. “Thanks, I appreciate it.”

He should say more than that, but in reality, he just wants to go.

The hurt lingers on Wes’ face for another second, and then his face molds into the false smile he wears so well. “I’m glad you know, at least,” he says. “Make sure not to be back too late.”

“Yeah, yeah, I got it.” Soul escapes through the door before Wes can say anything else.

Kid is in the driver’s seat, Black Star is in the front passenger seat, and Maka is sitting in the back as Soul enters the car. She gives him a nod as he fastens his seatbelt, which he takes a good sign. As Kid backs out of the driveway, Soul thinks he sees the blinds of the front window move.

Black Star lets out an excited yell that makes Soul’s ears ring as Kid drives down the snaking path that leads to the Fire Pit. “Are you ready to rule tonight?”

“We are going to a clearing in the middle of the woods to drink cheap alcohol and hang out with people we pretended to tolerate in high school,” says Maka, annoyance bleeding through her voice. There is something in her expression that Soul had glimpsed during their conversation they had while walking to the diner. “The only thing that’s going to rule tonight is stupidity.”

Black Star shifts in his seat to look at her in the face, clearly already tipsy. “And yet, you’re still here.”

“Just because I choose to act stupidly doesn’t mean I am stupid.”

With a small ‘hmph’, Black Star turns back around in his seat.

“Are you okay after seeing that?” Soul asks her in the ensuing silence, figuring it’s his turn to start the conversation.

Maka blinks, the annoyance on her face fading. “You mean the arm?” she asks. “I’m probably going to have a nightmare or two about it.” She frowns at him. “Why did you touch it after we found out it was real?”

If he says he wanted to know how something dead felt because he never so much as looked at his grandma after she died, he’s going to appear crazier than he had made himself look three years ago.

He shrugs instead. “I was just curious.”

The expression on Maka’s face tells him she doesn’t buy it, but she doesn’t challenge him. She shakes her head, a somberness replacing the look on her face. “I wonder who the arm belonged to.”

From the front, Black Star chimes in. “Someone dead, obviously.”

She exhales loudly. “Thank you for that observation.”

It’s quiet in the car, and then Kid says what they’re all thinking. “Do you think it belongs to Meme or Jackie?”

“The arm was too big to be Jackie,” says Soul immediately. Talking about death now that the arm isn’t in front of him makes the thing that itches under his skin come to life. He tries to recall what Meme had looked like to close the conversation. “I don’t know about Meme.”

“It’s probably some stranger who was passing through,” Kid muses, turning off the road and onto the dirt path that leads directly to the Fire Pit. “There are bears found in the woods sometimes so they could have been taken by surprise.”

Black Star is oddly coherent when he speaks again. “It’s sad,” he says as the light of the bonfire in the middle of the Fire Pit comes into view. “Dying and no one knowing where you are.”

Soul does his best not to think.

“Well, this is the best conversation to have right before a party,” says Maka dryly as the car comes to a halt beside the row of other cars lined outside the Fire Pit.

“Can’t truly party unless you’re aware of your own mortality,” answers Black Star as he picks up an open beer Soul hadn’t noticed sitting in the cup holder, draining it dry in one swig.

Emerging from the car with his hands raised to the sky like a gladiator entering the arena, he lets out a roar louder than his yell from earlier, drowning out the music playing from a boombox by the fire. “YOUR GOD IS HERE!”

He’s met with cheers and more than a few groans as he charges towards the bonfire.

“How do you put up with him?” Soul asks Kid as they exit the car, along with Maka.

Kid is quiet. Soul doesn’t think he’s going to answer him when he says, “You know how moths are drawn to lights?”

The question confuses him, but he answers anyways. “Yeah.”

Kid gestures to Black Star, who is currently trying to arm wrestle two people at once. “He’s my light.”

Striding away, Kid breaks up the tangle of human bodies easily, plucking Black Star from the middle and directing him to one of the wood logs.

Staring at them, Soul says aloud, “I don’t know if his mushiness rubbed off on Black Star or if Star’s rubbed off on him.”

“I think it’s sweet, to have someone like that.” He starts as Maka answers him-he hadn’t realized she was still next to him. Her face turns oddly flushed as she looks at him, although it might just be the firelight as they get closer to the party. “They’re sweet, I mean,” she corrects herself.

They stop just outside the ring of people surrounding the bonfire, and she gestures towards the group of ice chests sitting on the opposite side of the bonfire. “I’m going to get a drink,” she says. “Do you want one?”

He shakes his head. “I don’t really drink.”

“Okay.” He blinks at the sudden awkwardness in her voice. “I’ll see you later then.”

It’s only when Maka has walked away does Soul realize that the question was her way of asking him to hang out with her.

He searches the crowd, but he can’t find her in the crush of people surrounding the ice chests. Who he does spy, sitting on one of the logs not even thirty feet in front of him, is Hiro.

Instinct takes over his body, steering him straight to the ice chests, although it does not save Soul from his mind.

_It’s over,_ he tells himself, repeating Stein’s words. _It happened, but it’s over. It happened, but you’re breathing. **Just breathe.**_

This is what Stein would have called an opportunity for growth, but Soul isn’t interested in it at all. Somewhere, in the depths of his mind, a voice notes that this might be a good time to call his brother, but the ice chests are closer. He grabs the beer from an open chest before he remembers he doesn’t even like alcohol, though another run through his thoughts has him putting the beer back and reaching for the red cups sitting on top of another chest.

He’s not sure what he fills the cup with, only that it came from a keg surrounded by people who don’t look like they know where they are, and that that is the state he wants to be in. He downs half of his cup in one go, and refills it for good measure.

Hiro has disappeared from where he was sitting in the time it takes him to finish off the rest of his drink, and he moves automatically, heading for the most distant part of the bonfire, where the shadows of the forest start to overtake the clearing.

He’s not sure how long he stands there, ducking back in the dark every time someone with blond hair passes by and occasionally sipping from his cup, only that the alcohol is indeed making good on its promise to transport him away from reality. He peers in the forest when he gets bored, but no shadows are moving in it today, nor are there any voices calling to him.

“I thought you didn’t really drink.”

The sound of Maka’s voice makes him look back towards the party. Her body is haloed by the glow of the firelight, making her look vaguely angelic, helped along by the white sundress she’s wearing. He’s not sure why he didn’t compliment her earlier. _Cool guy,_ he coaches himself before saying in a singsong drawl, he says, “Oh, hey, angle.”

“What?” She stops in her tracks, almost within arm’s reach, giving him a suspicious look. “You’re drunk.”

He raises his cup in a mock toast, and some of the alcohol spills out. “Isn’t that the point of this?”

“Not to the point that you’re at.” She takes the cup from him without much effort, sniffing it once and making a face as she dumps it out. “Do you even know what you were drinking?”

“Nope,” he tells her cheerfully.

“That’s just great.” He isn’t aware of her coming closer, only that she’s holding his hands suddenly, guiding him to the ground.

“Let’s just sit for a while,” she says, letting go of his hands to gather her skirt and sit next to him. “And maybe you should put your head between your knees.”

He does as she says, finding her suggestion to be a godsend. The world becomes a little clearer as they sit, and he lifts his head after a while, sucking in a breath. He squints at the sky. “Did you know we have two moons?”

“Welcome back.” There’s a trace of sarcastic amusement in her voice, but she isn’t frowning so he supposes that’s something.

He rubs his face when she splits into two herself, waiting until she’s one person again to speak. “I’m never drinking again.”

She lets out a snort-she’s close enough that their arms brush together as she shifts. “Why were you drinking if you didn’t want to?”

Wagging his finger, he shakes his head, not drunk enough to spill out everything. “That’s a secret.”

Now there is a frown on her face, and he almost changes his mind. “Fine,” Maka says before he can speak. “You don’t have to tell me. We can just sit.”

“But I do want to tell you things,” he protests as she pulls her knees to her chest, and the feeling of her arm against his disappears. “Just not that one.”

She gives him a sidelong glance. “Like what?”

“Well, you look very nice.”

Maka rolls her eyes. “I’m sure you think everyone looks nice.”

He works to make his point. “You look extra nice,” he says. “Like an angel.”

“Is that what you were trying to say before?” She’s looking at him head-on now, and there’s a small smile on her face-it’s a little like looking at the sun.

“You’ll have to define before.” There’s a pain somewhere in the area of his stomach, trying to push the alcohol out, but he pushes it back down with equal force. “I also want to say something else.”

“Okay.” She puts an elbow on one knee, propping her head up as she looks at him. “What is it?”

“I’m sorry for what I said before I left.” The pain in his stomach is growing. “I shouldn’t have said-”

The frown is back. She straightens, pulling her knees in tighter. “I already told you I didn’t want to talk about that.”

“But-”

“Soul.” Maka isn’t looking at him anymore. “I’m serious.”

Even drunk, he knows better than to argue, and they lapse back into silence. Under his skin, something itches with a burning kind of feeling. Soul rakes his hand through his hair, up and down his arms, but the itch doesn’t go away.

Abruptly, it hits him. “You’re not having fun,” he says aloud.

She glances at him for a second. “I was.”

“But you’re not now.” He jumps to his feet. “Let’s have fun.”

“Soul, wait.” She scrambles to her feet, but he’s already heading for the bonfire.

The party has died down, most of the people gathered on the logs by the fire. He comes to a stop in front of the fire, close enough to the flames that he’d burn himself if he reached out even a little bit.

Soul has never been one for public speaking, but he does his best to imitate Black Star. “What’s up, people?” His words come out in an odd tangle as he sways back and forth, trying to make contact with everyone at the same time. “Who wants to have some fun?”

Unlike Black Star, he is not met with cheers or groans, but stony looks and hushed whispers.

He decides to try again when Kid and Black Star appear out of nowhere. “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Kid says gently. Behind him, Maka materializes, breathing heavily. “Maybe we should go home.”

Both he and Black Star reach for his arm, but he spins away, barely missing the fire. “How is not fun a good idea?” He looks back at the crowd, who is staring at him silently. “I mean, I know you think I’m crazy, but we can have fun, right?”

Someone in the crowd stands up, and Soul moves forward, glad to finally have someone take up his offer.

Hiro’s face is pale, even in the firelight, expression drawn up in fear as he points at Soul. “Why did you bring him here?”

Soul remembers why he started drinking.

And then he throws up.

* * *

Kid cranks down the windows on the way home while Maka keeps Soul balanced as he leans his head out of the window, pulling himself back in.

Maka lets go of where she was holding him by the arm, slouching in her seat. “If you puke on me, I’ll make you regret being born.”

Some lucidity is coming back to him now that he’s vomited the entirety of his stomach’s contents on the forest floor. “Too late for that.”

The hard glare on her face softens marginally. “Put your seat belt on.”

“You know, I thought I was going to be the drunkest one here,” Black Star says from the front. “What kind of parties did you go to at college?”

“Don’t encourage him,” Maka tells Black Star shortly.

“I’m not encouraged,” Soul says, putting his hands to his head as a splitting headache settles in. “My head is dying.”

Maka has no sympathy for him. “Remember that next time.”

It goes quiet after that, staying that way until they turned on his street, and the events of the last hour start to sink into Soul’s head.

“Did I mess it up?” he asks the car.

“There’s always going to be that one drunk person,” Black Star says after a moment.

“You just chose to do it in spectacular fashion,” adds Kid. “It’ll make for an interesting story, at least.”

They’re trying to be nice to him, which isn’t what he wants. He looks at Maka, who never makes excuses for him or pulls any of her punches.

“No,” she says softly. The anger is gone from her eyes, which just makes her look sad. “It’s just that it could have been better.”


	9. Interlude [Precipice]

_Lesson 9: Don’t message your therapist at midnight._

* * *

_[12:52 am] Soul: guess who fucked up againnnnnnn_

_[12:53 am] Soul: sorry i couldn’t wait until next week_

_[12: 54 am] Stein: I thought we talked about the negative language._

_[12:54 am] Soul: holy shit when do you sleep_

_[12:54 am] Stein: And the language, in general._

_[12:55 am] Soul: sorry im kinda inebrat_

_[12:55 am] Soul: inedbri_

_[12:55 am] Soul: im drunk_

_[12:56 am] Stein: Is it really wise to talk to me when you’re not going to remember this conversation in the morning?_

_[12:57 am] Soul: probably not but ive nevr made a wise decision and i acutually need to talk to someone_

_[12:58 am] Stein: You have until you make three more typos._

_[12: 58 am] Soul: i will endevor to do my best_

_[12:59 am] Stein: That’s one._

_[12:59 am] Soul: shit_

_[12:59 am] Stein: What do you want to want to talk about, Soul?_

_[1:00 am] Soul: i went to a party_

_[1:03 am] Stein: Is that all?_

_[1:04 am] Soul: I saw him_

_[1:04 am] Soul: Hiro_

_[1:04 am] Stein: What did you do?_

_[1:05 am] Soul: why do you think im drunk doc_

_[1:05 am] Stein: I don’t know. You haven’t told me and I don’t make assumptions._

_[1:05 am] Soul: you just want me to say it_

_[1:07 am] Soul: ugh fine i went and drank okay_

_[1:07 am] Stein: Have you done this kind of thing before?_

_[1:08 am] Soul: no and i never want too again_

_[1:08 am] Soul: don’t say it i know that’s 2_

_[1:08 am] Stein: Did avoiding the problem help you feel any better?_

_[1:09 am] Soul: you know i was more focused on making an ass out of myself in front of everyone including my friends but probably not_

_[1:10 am] Stein: If you hadn’t avoided the problem, you wouldn’t have gotten drunk and done that._

_[1:11 am] Soul: please don’t tell me I missed an opportunity for growth i already know that_

_[1:11 am] Stein: See? You know you’re the only one who has the power to change things._

_[1:12 am] Soul: That’s the whole fucking problem doc_

_[1:12 am] Soul: I don’t know how_

_[1:13 am] Soul: I disappointed my friends right after i got the one who hated me to start talking to me again_

_[1:13 am] Soul: and I didn’t want that to happen and it did_

_[1:14 am] Soul: im stuck_

_[1:15 am] Stein: You getting your former friend to talk to you again makes me think you’re not giving yourself enough credit. I also think you’re giving yourself excuses not to try to do better by the way you’re talking about tonight. Why do you think that is?_

_[1:16 am] Soul: I cannot process what you’re saying at all_

_[1:17 am] Stein: What is keeping you stuck: yourself or something else?_

_[1:18 am] Soul: didn’t know this was a philsophical class doc_

_[1:18 am] Stein: Think on it and get back to me. In the meantime, drink some aspirin and get some sleep._

_[1:19 am] Soul: oh that was three_


	10. Stone Boats

_Lesson 10: Never enter a church alone._

* * *

The only good thing about being hungover is that he doesn’t dream. Soul stays draped in a soft, inky darkness very much _unlike_ the black blood until he can’t ignore the sunlight jabbing at his eyes and the headache pounding at his temples. From where he’s cocooned himself among his blankets, he throws a vengeful glare at his broken blinds. “I need to fix those.”

Even though he’s awake, he stays nested in his bed, hands covering his face as he attempts to keep his head from splitting apart. His mouth tastes like sandpaper, and the world has an odd, bleary cast to it, like his eyes can’t focus no matter how hard he tries.

It’s overall a very gross state to be in, one that’s compounded by the arrival of his memories from last night. It comes to him in fragmented pieces: spotting Hiro, going to the ice chests, sitting with Maka on the grass, throwing up in front of the bonfire

And of course, his encounter with Hiro. The fear on his face as he asked why he was there.

Soul drags his fingers down his face, staring up at the ceiling. “Why did I go to the party?”

“That’s a question I was wondering myself.”

The sound of his mother’s voice makes him flinch in surprise. She’s standing in the doorway, glass of water in her hand, leaning against the wall. He can’t make out the expression on her face, but he’s guessing it isn’t pleased.

He doesn’t try to lie since the truth is already written all over his face. “Did Wes tell you?” he asks as she enters the room. He thought he recalled Wes promising he wouldn’t tell their parents, but his mind is very good at making up things.

“No,” she perches herself on the edge of the bed and prods the glass into his hand, “Maka texted me.”

Out of all the answers she could have given, this is one he never would have expected. He shoots up. “What did she tell you?”

“That you had gone to a party together with Kid and Black Star, and that maybe you had too much to drink.” Her eyes narrow at the flabbergasted expression on his face. “Why? Is there anything else that happened?”

He recovers quickly, shaking his head and feeling the world start to spin again. “I just don’t know why she texted you if Wes was here.”

“Wes is dead on his feet after a shift and she probably saw that,” she says with a slight shrug, though there is a pang on her face. “Either way, I was almost done with my shift so your father covered me and I came home early to check on you.”

Soul downs half of the water in the glass so he doesn’t have to talk. _So not only did you make a total fool of yourself and show Maka how incapable you are at taking care of yourself,_ a voice in his mind tells him, _but you made Mom risk her job, too._

Swallowing, he accepts the aspirin his mother presses into his hand, downing the pills with the rest of the water. “How come you’re not sleeping then?”

“You were sound asleep when I came home so I did lie down for a few hours,” she answers, checking the watch on her wrist. “Now I’m up and ready to go to the church,” she says. “I’ll be leaving in twenty minutes so you better get going.”

“What?” He blinks in confusion, not understanding her words.

“After last night, I’m not surprised you don’t remember,” his mother says with a click of her tongue. “But you promised to help me decorate the church for HarvFest, and an Evans always keeps their word.”

Now he remembers their conversation, and he flops back on his pillows with a groan. “Could you just disown me instead?”

“That’s for parents who don’t love their children.” She rips the blankets off him unceremoniously. “I’ll be waiting for you in the kitchen.”

She leaves before he could protest, and he lays there for a couple minutes, back to staring at the ceiling.

After another minute, he gets up.

* * *

_Soul: are you awake?_

_Black Star: im shocked ur awake actually_

_Black Star: you were super drunk last night dude_

_Soul: yes i am very aware of that fact_

_Black Star: hung over?_

_Soul: you should have just let me die of alcohol poisoning_

_Black Star: thats not a very best friend thing to do tho_

_Black Star: plus we’ve all been there_

_Soul: throwing up in front of everyone you know?_

_Black Star: no dummy making mistakes_

_Soul: i’ve been there too many times_

_Black Star: yeah but ur still here and thats another chance u know?_

_Soul: yeah_

_Soul: so why are you awake? you weren’t much better off than me_

_Black Star: Mr. Perkett wants me to decorate the store for harvfest since my hands are still out of commission in his eyes and harvfest is only 2 days away_

_Soul: ugh don’t even talk about harvfest the only reason im up is because my mom wants me to help her decorate the church_

_Black Star: thats kinda sweet in a parental kind of way_

_Black Star: also im gonna be serving ice cream with kid while he does at the bid-n-vid during harvfest so i dont think we’ll be able to hang out :(_

_Soul: it’s fine don’t worry about it_

_Soul: are we still on for costumes though_

_Black Star: hell yeah dude!!!_

_Black Star: have you talked with maka about wearing her witch’s costume???_

_Soul: not yet_

_Black Star: have you talked to her at all since last night?_

_Soul: nope_

_Soul: I want to talk to her in person_

_Black Star: i get it i’d want to talk to kid in person if it was me_

_Black Star: but she didn’t seem really mad after we dropped you off though_

_Soul: really?_

_Black Star: yeah it was more like she wants her best friend back_

_Black Star: so like_

_Black Star: don’t take forever to talk to her you know???_

_Black Star: because then that seems like youre shutting her out_

_Soul: I know_

_Black Star: i don’t wanna be like your mom or anything and i know you thought we had your number but she was really torn up when you left dude_

_Black Star: obviously she hid it because shes maka but like_

_Black Star: fuck i don’t know where im going with this_

_Black Star: just talk to her okay???_

_Soul: yeah_

_Soul: i will_

* * *

The Church of Coalescing Sorrows is the oldest building in Shibunsen Springs, supposedly built on the spring that founders John and Steve had camped at before the witch chased them away. It’s also the only building made without nails or glue, rows of blackened wood beams interlocked in precise joints that gradually narrow into a foreboding spire that stabs at the sky.

Soul stows his phone away in the pocket of his hoodie as his mother turns the car into the church parking lot, completely empty except for Marie’s patrol car and Father Justin’s hearse, which he uses even when there isn’t a funeral.

“Where are the other volunteers?” he asks, eyeing the police car warily as he tries to figure out why Marie would be here.

“I’m looking at him,” his mother answers as she parks smoothly into the parking spot next to the hearse. “All of the people who help at the church work too so we have to make do with the less than ideal conditions sometimes.”

“Great,” he mutters. Back when his parents forced him and Wes to go to church, Father Justin’s wild, fervent eyes as he preached at the pulpit had been featured in many a nightmare of his.

Now his mother is the only one of them that still goes to church.

He makes a muffled noise as he opens the door, and the sunlight hits his eyes, hauling his hood over his head. However, his mother immediately pulls it back down as they head for the church.

“There will be less light inside,” she tells him as the rounded doors of the church creak open.

“I appreciate all your help, Father,” says Marie as she steps out of the church, looking at the priest dressed in green and white robes. “I wouldn’t have known what to do if you refused.”

“It is my duty to bring as many souls as I can to peace,” Father Justin replies in a soft, calm voice. Blond hair stained with the faintest grey peeks out of the priest’s cap he wears. “It pains me there isn’t the whole body to bury with this one, but it’s the soul that matters, in the end.”

Soul’s mother clears her throat, and the priest and the officer look up at them. “Sorry to intrude,” she says apologetically. “Father, we’re here-”

“Are you burying the arm here?” Soul interrupts, putting the pieces of their conversation together. “You haven’t even found the rest of the body!”

“And we likely never will,” Marie replies in a composed voice, although her eyes flash a warning at him. “Considering the arm showed signs of being bitten by a bear.”

“A bear didn’t put the arm on a sidewalk in the middle of town,” says Soul while his mother nudges him in the side. “Isn’t that worth investigating?”

“Is this one of the young people who found the arm?” Father Justin peers at Soul with his bright blue eyes, and he suddenly regrets speaking out at all.

Marie is clearly holding back a sigh as she answers the priest, looking at Soul. “Yes, Soul and a few of his friends found the arm.”

His mother stops elbowing him in the ribs. “Wait, you’re the one that found the arm that your brother told me about?”

“Yup.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asks. “Why didn’t Wes?”

“It’s not that big of a deal,” he answers with a shrug. “I couldn’t see much anyways.”

She looks like she wants to argue, but Marie breaks in. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to get back to work,” she says. She gives the priest a nod. “Thank you again for agreeing to help, Father.”

“Any time, my child,” replies Father Justin. “And I’ll see you on Sundays again perhaps.”

Marie hesitates, and then gives him another nod before walking away.

While they’re talking, his mother frowns down at Soul. “Are you sure you didn’t see much?”

“Just the fingers, mostly.” He speaks before she can ask if he is okay. “I would have told you if I had a problem with it.” Vaguely, he feels guilty for lying in a priest’s presence, but he shakes it away just as quickly.

The priest speaks before his mother can reply. “So are these our volunteers for decorating the church for HarvFest?”

His mother pulls her gaze away from Soul. “Yes, Father,” she says, molding her face into a smile that is very reminiscent of Wes’s smile. “Soul’s come back from college so I figured it was a good opportunity to remind him of his roots.”

“I see.” Father Justin is looking at Soul with a curiosity that is more fitting for a cat playing with a mouse. “Perhaps Soul and I could chat for a few minutes while you start getting the decorations out of the basement.”

Soul opens his mouth to protest, but his mother speaks first. “Yes, I think that is a good idea, Father.” She gives Soul a look that means he’s forbidden from arguing. “I’ll see you in a little bit.”

Her tone leaves him no other option but to follow Father Justin into the church. Soul gets a glimpse of the rows of pews sitting before the altar, opening up like the jaws of a shark, before the priest leads him down a small hallway going away from the main area of the church.

Portraits of old priests gaze down sternly on Soul from his left ,while the sorrows of Saint Augustine, the church’s patron saint, are depicted in great detail on Soul’s left. His eyes fall on the painting of Saint Augustine’s face as he is dragged across a bed of coals, and he wonders if Father Justin knows that Old Man Tezca, the town’s resident artist and who the church commissioned for the paintings, regularly paints and sells erotic art on the side.

He’s on the verge of asking when Father Justin opens a small wooden door in front of them. “Here we are.”

He holds the door open, and Soul enters and takes the chair sitting in front of Father Justin’s desk, looking around the priest’s office avidly, despite not wanting to be there. It’s sparse for the most part, to his sore disappointment, although the stained glass art above the desk showing Saint Augustine being visited by angels is beautiful, in a somberly religious kind of way.

Father Justin notices him staring at it. “How I would have loved to have heard the revelations Saint Augustine heard that day,” he says as he closes the door. “But at least we have his words.”

Soul starts, and he looks away from the glass window to Father Justin as the priest settles behind the desk. He tries not to think of the last time he saw the priest. “So you really believe that angels came down from heaven to speak to a random person?”

“That is the mystery of miracles.” The priest appears to take no offense at his question or his tone, twining his fingers together and bringing them to rest on the desk. “And often we find what appears to be random is not random at all.”

“And what if he was lying about the angels said?” Soul challenges, folding his arms across his chest. “Or the angels never appeared to him?”

“That would rest on Saint Augustine’s soul.” The priest remains unruffled. “Although I would have to admit he chose very wise lies, if he did indeed lie.”

Soul goes quiet-it’s not easy to argue with someone who doesn’t give any kind of reaction. The priest does nothing to break the silence, contemplating his fingers with a calm focus.

Eventually, Soul’s discomfort with the quiet pushes him to speak. “I thought you wanted to talk to me about the arm.”

“I thought it might help to unburden your soul about it, considering how you reacted to your grandmother’s death.” He’s referring to the way Soul ran out of the church before Grandma Evans’ funeral began almost four years ago. “But I am not the police, so this is not an interrogation.”

Leaning back in the chair, he forces back how he felt when he saw the casket lying at the front of the church. “A random person’s arm is nothing like looking at my dead grandma, so there’s nothing to unburden.”

“If that is how you truly feel, then that is good,” says the priest. “But you showed an awful amount of concern for a _random person_ when you were arguing with Officer Mjolnir.”

“Arguing is my specialty,” Soul says. He glances back up at the stained window again. There’s nothing beautiful about it now. “How do you believe in all of this?”

“Faith is a job requirement for a reason,” he answers mildly. “It is not always easy, but you have to learn to rely on it.”

It doesn’t answer his question. “But how do you know it’s true?”

Here the priest shrugs. “You don’t,” he says. “That’s the whole point of faith.”

“Well, that’s ridiculous then,” Soul replies flatly, getting to his feet. “It means that religion is just hoping there is something bigger than you that also happens to care about you.”

The priest watches him with his bright gaze. “And what’s so wrong about that?”

To that, he has no answer.

Father Justin gives him a mellow smile. “I’ll let you get back to helping your mother,” he says when it becomes apparent Soul has nothing to say, gesturing to the door. “But feel free to drop in anytime during your visit or after.”

* * *

Soul finds his mother in the back room of the church, sorting through decorations on a white picnic table that looks like it’s on the verge of collapsing.

“There you are.” His mother’s hair is tied back in a ponytail. “How did talking with Father Justin go?”

The conversation with Father Justin marks the third conversation in less than twelve hours where his faults have been thoroughly laid out in front of him, although the priest had been more gentle than Stein and more eloquent than Black Star. “I thought you were going to be more direct about trying to get me to go to church.”

“I was mostly teasing about that.” She looks up, her brow furrowing. “Father Justin didn’t pressure you about that, did he?”

He shakes his head. “We talked about the arm,” he answers, omitting everything else.

“Good.” Her expression clears. “Do you feel better about it?”

“I wasn’t that torn up about it in the first place, but sure.” He turns his attention to the boxes of decorations she’s organizing. “What do you want me to help with?”

“I-” She looks around and frowns. “I think there’s one more box in the basement that I didn’t get,” she says. “The door to the basement is by the altar and the box has a red lid on it. Would you mind getting it?”

“Sure thing.”

The silence of the church is different, like someone or something is permanently holding its breath. Soul taps the backs of the pews as he makes his way up the main aisle of the church, to break up the quiet, but it just seems to swallow the sound as quickly. He can’t keep himself from glancing at the pew he had sat in for Grandma Evans’ funeral, right in front of the altar. It was fortunate he had been sitting on the end that day, because shortly after they wheeled the casket, he had stood up and walked out of the church. Of course, his parents had made him come back for the burial, but Grandma Evans’ casket had been closed by then.

He doesn’t notice he’s shaking until he reaches out for the door to the basement and sees his fingers trembling. Letting out a breath, he twists the knob and pushes the door open.

In true church fashion, or perhaps horror movie style, the wooden steps leading down into the basement are bathed in darkness, opaque outlines sitting motionlessly at the bottom of the stairs. Soul stretches a hand out from where he stands just outside the basement and pulls the string hanging in front of him. A single lightbulb pops on above the stairs while a couple of fluorescent panels illuminate the basement below in a weak light. He descends the steps slowly, a series of creaks following his movements.

Like Father Justin’s office, the basement is sparse, a couple of wardrobes lined up next to each other on the wall opposite of him, while overstuffed cabinets sit against the wall adjacent. In a corner stands a giant black furnace on spindly legs, the metal pipe connected to the ceiling.

The tiny slits on its door make it look like a many-eyed cyclops, and Soul quickly tears his eyes away before his imagination can get the better of him. He spies the box his mother described to him, but it’s not until he’s crossed the room to pick it up that he notices the door next to the box, the word _Mausoleum_ engraved neatly across its middle.

Soul pauses in the middle of picking up the box, letting it drop back down on the floor with a low thud. The door is slightly ajar, and through it, he can see the final resting places of Shibunsen Springs’ first residents.

For a fraction of a second, Soul vacillates in front of the door. Then, he pushes it wide open.

There is no light in the mausoleum, except for the light that shines in from the basement. Soul hovers in the doorway, hand curled around the door sill.

If it’s quiet in the church, it’s nothing but dead air in the mausoleum, which he supposes makes sense. The tombs organized in neat columns resemble stone boats, carrying stationary passengers into a sea of silence that will never end.

He squints at the tomb closest to him, trying to see the name without moving into the mausoleum, when a hand pushes him in.

A strangled yell escapes from his mouth as Soul falls heavily on his stomach, nose knocking against the ground. Scrambling to his feet, he gets a glimpse of a shadowy figure pulling the door closed, slamming himself against the door just as the lock slides in place.

“Hey!” He slams a fist against the door repeatedly while yanking on the door knob with his other hand, to no avail. “I have a pretty bad sense of humor too, but this isn’t funny!”

He rails against the door with both hands now. “Hey! Open the door!”

The only thing that answers him is the distant sound of the basement door closing.

“Shit.” Soul twists around, pressing his back and hands against the door as his breathing becomes quick and shallow.

 _It happened, but it’s over,_ he reminds himself in a vain attempt to get his breathing back under control. His nails dig against the door, making a scraping noise that reverberates in the silence of the mausoleum.

Scouring his memories of all of the time he spent at the church, he strains to remember if his recollection of a door on the side of the church’s exterior is real or him fabricating memories so he doesn’t lose his mind.

He can’t decide, and ultimately, his impatience wins out, pushing him to take a step away from the door. His eyes have adjusted to the dark in the time it’s taken him to move, and he can make out the long columns that hold the dead as he moves forward, careful to keep himself fixed firmly in the middle to avoid touching the tombs.

At first, Soul’s goal is to make it to the opposite wall of the mausoleum and follow it until he finds the door, but he hadn’t counted on the pathway opening up in diagonal paths, all of them leading to more long columns of tombs. He wavers, peering down one aisle to the next, having no idea which aisle might take him out of this nightmare. Eventually, he chooses the right only for the reason that there seems to be less tombs in that direction. He’s made it about halfway down the aisle when he hears the distinct sound of footsteps behind him.

His heart drops to the pit of his stomach as he loses any semblance of control and he breaks out into a run, immediately crashing into a column of tombs. Stumbling back, he wheels around and barrels down the aisle.

The footsteps grow louder as he runs as fast as he can in the dark, looking behind his shoulder. He turns his head forward in time to spy the wall coming up ahead of him, and grinds to a halt before he crashes again.

He whirls around, heart hammering in his throat as the footsteps come closer. Either the dead have woken up or it’s the shadowy figure that locked him in here in the first place, and he’s not sure which option is worse.

A cry locks in his throat as a shadow turns the corner.

There’s a click and a light shines in his face. “What the hell are you doing, kid?” asks a gruff voice.

Soul puts up a hand in front of his eyes, squinting at the figure. He thinks he makes out a head full of silver hair. “Aren’t you the one who locked me in here?”

“There’s not a living soul in here except you and me.” The light drops from his face, and Soul gets a better look at the old man holding the flashlight. He doesn’t recognize him, though the set of his eyes looks vaguely familiar. “Besides, why would I do that?”

He throws his hands up in the air. “How should I know?”

There’s a beat, and then he asks, “Are you sure there’s no one else in here?”

The stranger shakes his head. “No one here but you and old Mort,” he says. “And the dead, of course.”

“Right,” Soul says, still apprehensive but relatively sure that he’s not going to die here. He clears his throat. “Could you show me the way to the exit?”

The old man regards him for a moment. In the reflection of the light, his eyes appear just as silver as his hair. Then, he jerks his head in nod. “Suppose so.”

Without another word, he turns, disappearing back around the corner, and Soul scrambles to catch up with him.

It’s quiet in the first moments that he follows the old man, too quiet. Glancing up at the old man, he says, “So you said your name was Mort?”

He grunts. “You’re smart.”

“Thanks.” His gaze trails down Mort’s face, mostly hidden by a beard that’s as grey as his hair. The name rings familiar to Soul, but he can’t quite put his finger on where he heard it before. “Are you from around here?”

“You could say I’m from everywhere,” answers Mort as he leads them down a narrow corridor.

“Does that mean you’re a drifter?” asks Soul, unable to keep the curiosity out of his voice.

Mort’s silvery eyes flick down to him. “You might actually be smart, kid.”

“I try.” He falls into step with the old man instead of trailing behind. “How long have you been in Shibunsen Springs?”

Mort holds out a hand in front of him, counting off fingers. “About three weeks, if my math is right.”

He frowns. “That’s a little long for a drifter to be in one place, isn’t it?”

“There’s no handbook on how to be homeless, kid.”

Heat burns in his face. “Sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry about,” he says, waving his words away as they turn left into a wider aisle. “It is what it is.”

Soul nods, and Mort speaks again. “You say you got locked in here by someone?”

“Well, I wouldn’t have locked myself in.” Now that he’s sure that he’s not going to die here, the feeling of the hand pushing against his back resurfaces. His mouth becomes dry when he thinks of the shadow he saw before the door slammed shut.

“That’s odd, since there’s not many people here, generally.” Mort doesn’t notice the change in his face. “The only people I’ve seen here today besides you is Father Justin, a lady volunteer, and a cop.”

“The volunteer is my mom,” he says. “We’re decorating the church. And Marie-”

He breaks off suddenly, Mort’s words sinking in. “Wait, do you live here?”

Mort’s voice becomes evasive. “Not here, exactly. Closeby.”

Soul frowns in confusion. “But the only thing around here are the woods-” His eyes widen. “You live in the woods?”

The old man snorts. “Don’t make it sound so bad, kid. Besides, I’m going to be getting a move on soon. Today, I think.”

“Why?”

“I’m a drifter, remember?” says Mort. “People generally don’t like drifters staying long in their town.”

“People are stupid.”

“That may be, but some of them are kind,” Mort answers. “Like Father Justin, for example. He’s given me food and blankets these past few weeks, and that’s enough to give me hope in the good of people.”

Soul speaks before he can think. “But hope doesn’t really do anything.”

“Doesn’t it?” Mort shine his light ahead, revealing a wooden door thirty feet in front of them. “It’s the last thing you hold onto.”

“Maybe.” Soul doesn’t bolt for the door like he thought he would. “But it’s also the thing that disappoints the most, too.”

“Maybe,” Mort agrees. “But if you hadn’t had it, you would have never moved from that door when you got locked in.”

He stays silent.

“Hope means you don’t think you’re alone,” Mort says as he pushes open the door, and the sunlight from outside floods in. They step out of the mausoleum, Soul shielding his eyes with his hands as he walks forward. “And that’s important, Soul.”

Soul blinks. “How do you know my name?” he asks as he turns around to look at Mort

The old man is gone.


	11. Fate Will Play Us Out

_Lesson 11: Think twice, act once._

* * *

When his mother passes by the Scythe’n’Saw on their way home, Soul shoots up from where he was slouching in his seat. “Wait!”

“What?” His mother nearly swerves into a mailbox, slamming on the brakes.

“Sorry,” he says hastily. “I just-” he breaks off and points to the store, “could you drop me off there? I can find my way home.”

Even though they’re in the middle of the road, his mother glances to where he’s pointing, and he watches as her face as she puts the pieces together. She navigates to the side of the street before looking at him. “Maka?”

He hates the way she looks like she’s about to laugh, and he scowls. “We’re just hanging out.”

“Of course.” She sobers, although there’s still amusement in her eyes. “So did you get her anything?”

He’s thrown off by the question. “What?”

Her expression becomes confused. “Haven’t you always gotten Maka something for her birthday?”

“Her birthday?” he repeats in growing horror.

“You forgot Maka’s birthday?”

Realization hits him like a well-aimed punch to the face. He wants to bury himself under a rock and never come out. He leans his head back against the car seat. “How did I forget?”

“It’s been a while since you’ve been home,” his mother says, clearly trying to be soothing, although it only makes him feel worse. “If you want, I can go buy-”

“No, I have money,” he lies, wishing he hadn’t left the twenty dollar bill Wes had given him as tip yesterday. “We’ll go to the mall and find something there.”

“A lot of stores have shut down, but there’s still enough stores open to find something she likes,” she says. “When will you be home?”

Soul searches for his phone. “Could I just call you?”

His mother doesn’t answer at first, looking at him wistfully. “Sometimes I forget you’re not a baby anymore?”

He makes a face. “Do you really miss changing diapers that much?”

“Not that, but other things.” She reaches out to tousle his hair. “Thank you for helping me today.”

“Of course,” he says. “It was fun, in a way.” Internally, he congratulates himself for having a rare moment of wisdom and keeping what happened in the basement to himself. If he overlooked it, his time at the church hadn’t been as bad as he thought; his mother broke out a picnic basket full of sandwiches and chips after they finished, which they’d eaten in the back room.

“Good.” His mother gives his hair a final ruffle. “Don’t come home too late.”

* * *

The courage Soul thought he had evaporates as soon as he reaches the door to the Scythe’n’Saw, and he spins around, thinking that he might go visit Black Star instead or maybe get run over by a train-

The bells of the door rattle against the glass in a gentle cacophony, and a voice calls his name. “Soul Evans.”

He turns around slowly, gaze locking with Maka in the background as Kim steps out of the store and crosses her arms, a bag with Scythe’n’Saw’s logo on it in her hands.

“You put on quite the show yesterday,” she says as the door swings closed, and he glances down at her.

“Usually, I charge a fee, but last night was a freebie,” he says, looking back in the store to find Maka has disappeared from view.

She snorts. “You haven’t come to listen to my poetry either,” she says it casually, but he can hear the sting in her voice.

“Sorry,” he says, surprised to find he means it. “I’ll drop by soon.”

“It might be better if you wait until the party. I’m going to be doing some spoken word there,” she says. Slyly, she adds, “Unless you’ve grown allergic to parties.”

It takes Soul a second to remember what she’s talking about. The party the day after HarvFest, held at the old mining station was something of a tradition, and nothing like anything held at the Fire Pit, which is more of a glorified hang out spot than anything else.

“I’m not generally a fan of showing up to places where everyone hates me,” he says, trying to peek further into the store.

“People don’t hate you, they think you’re off your rocker,” says Kim breezily. “So long as you don’t go too crazy, they’ll start to like you.”

“I can think of at least one person that definitely hates me,” Soul answers. He’s eager to be done with the conversation for more than reason. “But I’ll think about it.”

“Don’t worry too much about Hiro.” Kim uncrosses her arms. “I mean, he didn’t deserve _that_ , but he’s also an insufferable idiot that most people have thought about punching.”

She, Kim Diehl, is trying to make him feel better, and he wonders how low he has sunk for it to come to this.

“Thanks,” he tells her. And then, feeling he should say something else, he adds, “Really.”

“How eloquent,” she says, rolling her eyes as she moves out of his way and starts to head down the sidewalk. “Your English professors must have loved reading your papers.”

“Always a pleasure to see you too.”

She waves a middle finger lazily at him without looking back. “See you around.”

Soul is surprised that he feels lighter as he enters the Scythe’n’Saw. It deflates somewhat when he spies Maka at the counter, reading a magazine and pointedly ignoring his presence, but it’s enough to keep him walking towards the register.

Swallowing, he stops about a foot away from the register. Distantly, he remembers her telling him she wasn’t mad during the car ride home last night, but she’s either changed her mind or she acts the same way when she’s sad as she does when she’s mad.

He speaks. “Hey.”

She turns the page of her magazine. “Hi.”

 _She was really torn up when you left but obviously she hid it because she’s Maka,_ Black Star’s words echo in his head, which is the thing that keeps him from making an excuse and walking away.

Stepping closer to the register, he plants his hands at his sides so he doesn’t slouch and bury them in his pockets. “Listen, I know I screwed up, and you didn’t have a good time and that was one of the only times you let yourself have fun-”

He breaks off, feeling his words, which don’t feel right anyways, start to spiral into an incoherent ramble. Taking a deep breath, he tries again, wandering dangerously close to the place in his mind where he’s put everything.

“I know you don’t want to talk about what happened before,” he says, staring at her hands instead of her face. Being this straightforward is agonizing so he tries to channel Dr. Stein. “But I want things between us to be okay again. More than that-” He falters, internally shaking himself before he talks again. “I don’t think I’ve ever said that before, so I just assumed you knew that’s how I felt.”

There’s much more he can say, but he holds back as Maka’s hand close the magazine, and the weight of her gaze shifts to him.

“I was having a pretty good time talking to you,” she says finally. Her face is closer to him than when he first arrived at the counter. He can see the golden flecks in her irises as she rolls her eyes. “Right before you decided to have some fun.”

Soul strains to remember what she’s talking about, and a tiny piece of a memory from last night comes to him. “You sat with me under the trees.”

“You were too drunk to stand.” There’s a pause, and her expression becomes almost nervous. “Do you remember what you called me?”

“No, what did I say?” Horror drills a pit in his gut as he goes over the possibilities of what he could have said. “Whatever it was, I didn’t mean it,” he says quickly. “I was drunk, and I hardly mean half the words I say-”

“Forget it.” Maka cuts him off with a wave of her hand. She looks annoyed now, but her cheeks are oddly rosy. “I didn’t think you did anyways, I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

Now Soul is more intrigued than horrified to find out what he said, but he knows from her tone that she’ll never tell him what he said, so he moves onto the other reason he came into the store.

“Happy birthday, by the way,” he says, the cross look on her face disappearing.

She blinks. “You remembered?”

“Of course.” This is the first lie in a long time he feels rotten for saying, but he can’t say the truth. “How could I not?”

“Well, when the first year passed after you went to college and I didn’t hear from you-” She breaks off with a quick shrug. “What matters is that you remembered while you were here.”

“Exactly!” He thrums his fingers against the counter. “So let’s go celebrate.”

Instead of smiling like he thought she would, Maka shakes her head. “I can’t, I have to close the store, and we don’t close until six,” she says. “And then after that, I have to go buy some meat to make dinner for me and my dad.”

“That’s how you’re celebrating your birthday?” Soul asks in bewilderment. It’s a far cry from how they would spend her birthday when she was younger, even when her mom died, going to the city, or watching a movie at the theater.

“I’m an adult,” she says like she read his mind. She straightens so she’s no longer so close to him. “And most adults usually work on their birthdays.”

“Yeah, but they usually make time to celebrate,” he points out. “You’re not doing that at all.”

She starts counting the money in the register. “What if I just like working and making dinner?”

“And what if I like hanging out at the psych wards and being picked apart by therapist after therapist?”

A laugh, loud and open, comes tumbling out of Maka’s mouth. At once, she claps a hand over her mouth. “I’m sorry,” she says, words coming out muffled. “I shouldn’t have laughed.”

“I said it to be funny,” he says, ignoring the uptick in his heart rate. “I’m glad you laughed, otherwise it would have been awkward.”

Her hand pulls away from her mouth, and Maka studies him with an oddly unreadable expression. “Black Star already tried to get me to ditch work,” she finally says.

“Yeah, but you like me better than Black Star.”

To his surprise, she doesn’t contradict him, but only asks, “What do you have in mind?”

* * *

It doesn’t take as much time as Soul expects to get to the mall. Sitting near where the boundaries of Shibunsen Springs and Eibon come together, the mall used to be claimed by both towns, although as Maka turns into the mall’s giant parking lot, Soul isn’t sure if the mall is something either town wants anymore.

“It’s seen better days,” Maka says, echoing his thoughts as she angles into a parking spot.

“Much better days,” Soul answers, his eyes running up the peeling paint of the mall’s main structure. His parents had always made it a point to have the mall repainted a crisp white in the places where it needed it, but the entire exterior of the building seems to have fallen in a state of disrepair. The trees and plants in the planters lining the mall look about as dead as the ones at their home, and the parking lot, generally always running near capacity, is more than half-empty.

Looking at the mall makes his skin prickle and slides a weird sensation in his stomach that he doesn’t like, so he forces himself to tear his eyes away and look back at Maka, who is peering at herself in her visor’s mirror. “What are you doing?”

She starts and immediately closes the mirror. “Nothing, I just thought there was something in my eye,” she says, grabbing her bag from where it sits in the middle of the console without looking at him. “Ready?”

And without waiting for Soul to reply, she exits the car. He scrambles out of the car, nerves crashing back into him as he remembers they’re here to celebrate her birthday, something that requires money, which he currently has none of.

He tries to sound casual as they head towards the mall entrance. “Hey, do you want to stop by to say hi to my brother before we look around?”

“Sure.” Maka’s face brightens. “I haven’t seen Wes in ages.”

“Really?” The doors to the mall open with a soft swish, and the cool air of the air-conditioned mall rushes out to meet them. “But Shibunsen Springs is so small.”

“Yes, but he spends all his time here.” Almost every other store they pass is dark and shuttered. On a few, there is a banner across the front advertising for the opening of a new shop, but the opening date on some of them has long since passed.

“How many times have you seen your brother since you came back?” Maka asks as they pause in front of what used to be her favorite bookstore. There’s a wistful expression on her face as she looks at the darkened store window. “And for how long?”

“I would have thought the mall would have been been busier,” he replies after a moment. “He’s gone so much.”

“He’s probably the reason why there’s still more stores open than closed,” she says, starting to walk again, and leading the way to the corner of the mall that houses the management office and security guard’s station. “It takes a lot of work to get through the economic stuff the town’s going through.”

It’s the first time he’s heard her acknowledge the change in Shibunsen Springs, which makes the prickling underneath his skin intensifies for some reason. Fortunately, he’s saved from having to respond by their arrival at the management office.

The security guard doesn’t even look up from his station as they pass by, and Soul knocks on the door labeled with his brother’s name once before opening the door without waiting for Wes to open it.

Wes looks up from the papers on his desk, the furrow in his brow smoothing out as he spots Soul, mouth dropping open and his eyes widening nearly to the size of dinner plates when he notices Maka behind him.

“This is a surprise.” Wes manages to regain his composure as he rises from his chair, but just barely. He pokes Soul in the shoulder indiscreetly while he smiles at Maka. “It’s lovely to see you again.”

“The feeling is mutual.” Maka’s smile is warm and easy in comparison to the ones she’s given Soul. “How have you been?”

“Still alive,” he gestures to the stacks of papers on his desk, “and buried in paperwork, as you can see.”

“I know how you feel,” Maka says sympathetically. “I have a bunch of invoices and orders to process at the store.”

Soul speaks before Wes can reply, trying and failing to his annoyance. “Good to see you too.”

“Of course.” His brother is oblivious and gracious. “I’m always a pleasure to be around.”

Maka laughs while Wes tosses a wink at Soul, who scowls. Perhaps he’s not as oblivious as Soul thought, but he definitely knows how to get under his skin better than anyone else.

“It’s taken you a while to finally visit,” says Wes as he steps back and offers them a seat with a flourish of his hand. “I was starting to think you forgot entirely.”

“I’ve been back for less than a week.” He perches on the edge of one of the chairs in front of Wes’ desk while his brother takes his seat again. Unlike when his parents occupied this office, his brother doesn’t have many decorations or pictures. The walls are covered in graphs and pie charts while Wes barely appears to have enough room to fold his hands on his desk.

The sight prompts the itching under his skin to come alive again. “But I’ll start coming more often.”

“Good, I’ll hold you to it.” Wes leans back in his chair, gaze flicking from Soul to Maka. “So what brings you two here?”

“Well, it’s my birthday and-” Maka breaks off. “I was expecting a supply delivery today, I completely forgot,” she says rapidly, jumping to her feet. “I’m going to call my dad to see if he can receive it, instead.”

She pulls out her phone as she heads for the door. “Sorry, I’ll just be a minute.”

“Take your time,” Wes calls behind her. As soon as the door closes, he looks at Soul. “She’s changed.”

His words make Soul flinch inwardly. “She’s still Maka.”

“I don’t mean it in a bad way,” says Wes with a slight tilt of his head. “She’s the same deep down, but stress and pressure can do a lot to a person.”

“That’s why I convinced her to come here,” Soul replies as he shifts in his seat, trying not to wonder how much stress asking Wes for money is going to put on him. “She wasn’t even going to do anything for her birthday.”

Wes grins at him. “I knew you could be a good influence.”

“Thanks,” he says dryly. There’s a beat of silence, and he speaks past the nerves locked somewhere around his throat. “I also wanted to get her something.”

“I think that’s a great idea.” The grin on Wes’ face widens. “You still have the twenty dollars I gave you, right?”

“About that,” he starts, his voice significantly more high-pitched than normal. Somehow, it’s less embarrassing to ask his brother for money than his parents, but it’s still a struggle. “We had dinner at Tick Tock’s yesterday.”

“And you paid for it,” Wes finishes. There is no disappointment in his voice, but Soul’s skin still crawls. He nods, because he doesn’t think it would end well if he admitted he left twenty dollars as a tip to spite Black Star and Kid.

Wes sighs. “Well, I can’t blame you for wanting to be a good friend.” He reaches into a drawer, and pulls out his wallet. “I’m at the end of my rainy day fund for the month so I can only give you another twenty.”

“That’s okay.” Soul accepts the bill, shoving away his guilt. “Thanks.”

“Just make sure to get her something good,” says Wes, a shadow of his grin returning. He pauses before adds, “I was surprised to see you two talking again.”

“Not as surprised as I am,” Soul answers as Maka reenters the room.

“What’s surprising?” she asks, hooking part of her hair behind her ear. To Wes, she says, “Sorry for taking so long, it took forever for my dad to pick up.”

“The struggles of being a working adult,” says Wes, waving off her apology. “And we were just talking about how many stores have closed since Soul was last here.”

It’s impressive how smoothly he lies, and Soul makes a note to pay more attention as to how Wes lies in the future.

At a look from him, Soul nods hastily. “Yeah, it’s crazy how many stores have shut down.”

“Yeah, I know,” Maka says, biting her lip. “But new stores are sure to open up when things get better.”

“I like your optimism.” Wes laughs, but there’s no humor in it. He gestures to the papers in front of him. “Now, I hope you don’t think I’m rude, but I have to get through some of this before I can leave.”

“You are one person, you know,” Soul says as he stares at the piles, some of which tower nearly a foot above the desk. The lines of exhaustion on Wes’ face seem to stand out more. “Don’t push yourself too much.”

“I know my limits, little brother.” Wes gives him another smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes like before.

“But-”

“Soul.” Wes saying his name like that is enough to make him go quiet. His brother looks to Maka. “Enjoy your birthday.”

“We will, thank you.” Maka grabs Soul’s hand when he starts to argue again, and he’s so stunned that he lets her lead him out of Wes’ office without any protest at all.

She lets go after they pass the security’s guard station, although the warmth from her hand still buzzes pleasantly in his palm. Her eyebrows come together as she gives him a half-amused stare. “Why do you like to argue so much?”

He tries to act as nonchalantly as her. “It’s my specialty.”

“No denying that.” She rolls her eyes, but a twinge of a smile tugs at her lips. “So, where are you taking me?”

* * *

When Maka spies the pretzel logo for Eibon’s Giant Pretzelmaker, she audibly gasps. “I didn’t know this was still open,” she says with a wistful look on her face. “I haven’t had one of their pretzels in so long.”

“I thought it’d be better than any cake I could buy from the store.” Soul gestures to the sign with an overly elaborate swish of his hands. “Definitely better than any cake I could make.”

“Really?” Maka’s gaze flickers to him, and then back to the sign, her face lighting up in a way he hasn’t seen since he returned. “You thought right.”

“Hopefully, they taste as good as they used to,” he says as he pulls open the door to the shop, letting her go in first. Unlike times in the past, there isn’t a line, but Maka stops before reaching the register, looking back at Soul. He frowns. “What’s wrong?”

“I know that your situation isn’t the same as mine,” she says, a slight blush rising in her face. “But is there anything I should avoid getting?”

It takes him a second to understand what she means. He shakes his head rapidly. “No, get what you want.”

“Thank you.” A smile flashes across her face before she turns back around.

In the moment, it feels good to say what he knows will make her smile, but Soul tries not to flinch when she orders the most elaborate pretzel on the menu, a combination of ice cream, whipped cream and overly sugared pretzel. He’s struggling to find something on the menu that won’t eat up the last of his money when she glances at him. “Since this is like my birthday cake, we can share, right?”

“Sure.” He nods quickly before she can change her mind, glad that he only has to pay for one pretzel.

Maka’s expression appears oddly relieved. “Okay, great.”

Even with that, however, he’s still left with less than seven dollars, and he wonders dully if he might be able to buy Maka a pack of gum as he follows her out of the store.

They find a table in the food court nearby. Maka hands Soul a spoon as he sits, and glances at the pretzel sitting on top of the mound of ice cream. “Do you want to split the pretzel now or later?”

“Doesn’t matter to me,” he says, mind still on her gift.

“Later, then.” She stabs her spoon into the ice cream with an avid look in her eyes, which brings Soul out of his thoughts.

He watches as she swallows the ice cream on her spoon in one bite. “What, no singing you happy birthday first?”

“If you try to sing me happy birthday here, I will end you,” she says, jabbing her spoon in his direction to cement her point.

“A strange choice for a murder weapon, but not the worst.” He scoops a spoonful of ice cream with his spoon. He works to keep a neutral face as he glances at the ice cream before putting the spoon in his mouth. It’s strawberry, which is not his favorite, but it’s Maka’s so he accepts it without complaining.

Maka picks up the pretzel once they get through the rest of the ice cream and whipped cream, and holds it out to him. “Remember how we used to do this?”

“Only a pretzel isn’t a wishing bone, and it’s your birthday,” he says, shaking his head. “You get the wish automatically.”

“I want it fair and square, though,” she says, continuing to extend the pretzel to him. “Come on.”

The stubborn look on her face tells him he’s not going to win this battle so he reaches out to hold the pretzel, although he tries to keep his grip as loose as possible.

“On the count of three,” Maka says, meeting his eyes. “One, two-”

“Three,” he finishes, pulling the pretzel to him at the same time as she does.

Soul stares at the piece of pretzel in his hands, clearly larger than the one that Maka holds. “Let’s trade.”

“Nope.” Maka takes a big bite of her pretzel before he can snatch out of her hand and replace it with his. There’s a smug look on her face as she asks through bites, “What are you going to wish for?”

“I have no idea.” Wishes are for the future, and it’s been a long time since he’s thought beyond what’s happening in the moment. He stares at the pretzel, like it might give him the answer.

“So?” Maka prompts him after another moment.

He takes a bite and swallows. “I think I’ll save it for later.”

* * *

They wander the mall aimlessly after finishing off the pretzel. The old stores they used to browse have all vacated the mall, including the vintage record store Soul occasionally bought records from. All that’s left that is remotely interesting is an old candle shop that leaves a sickly sweet scent in Soul’s nose, a hat emporium, and a card shop with overly priced items.

It’s more than disappointing, and Soul wonders how Wes manages to spend so much time on stores that look like they’re a few months short of closing their doors, although he consoles himself with the thought that he has time to find a better, albeit, belated birthday gift.

“Oh, look.” Maka’s voice pulls him back to reality. She’s pointing a store just ahead of him. “Hot Topic is still open.”

He holds back a groan as she ducks into the shop and he follows-everything in Hot Topic is expensive.

“Welcome to Hot Topic,” a girl says behind the register, sporting such brightly colored hair that it rivals Black Star. “Let me know if you need anything.”

Maka goes from to display to display, not spending long at any one in particular or showing interest in anything.

That is, until she spies the rack of nail polish. “Look at all the colors,” she says excitedly, pulling two containers from one of the shelves. “The pharmacy store in town only has like five colors, and they’re all tacky.”

Soul glances at the price tag on the shelf and lets out an internal sigh of relief when he sees the nail polish is only four dollars. Clearing his throat, he asks, “Is there one that you especially like?”

“I really like this one,” she says, holding up a container that is an atrocious shade of electric blue. “But I also _really_ like this one,” she adds, lifting another container of nail polish that is almost the exact shade of her eyes.

“Well, I guess you kinda have good taste,” he says, which earns him a swat on the arm from her. He’s mildly disappointed that he can’t afford both, but he supposes something is better than nothing.

“I’m going to get the blue one, I think,” she says, putting the green nail polish back on the shelf. “I already have some green.”

“Let me get it for you.” He holds out a hand for the nail polish, but she shakes her head.

“No, you already treated me to a pretzel,” she says, starting to head for the register. “And I have a few dollars left over from my last paycheck.”

“But it’s your birthday,” he says, struggling to keep pace with her in the narrow aisle.

“That doesn’t mean I can have everything.”

“Everything?” he repeats. “It’s a bottle of nail polish!”

Maka doesn’t reply, only giving him a look before walking up to the counter, where the cashier is helping someone else.

Soul watches her as she gets in line, but he doesn’t follow her, turning back down the aisle. He tries to pretend that he doesn’t know what he’s going to do, but his body betrays him with clammy hands and a rapidly increasing heartbeat.

The green nail polish is sitting where Maka left it, still warm from her touch as Soul puts it in his pocket.

Distantly, he’s aware he could just pay for the nail polish, but there is a roaring in his ears that drowns out everything else, and the thing inside of him that revels in self-destruction has taken over his body.

His heart is pounding so hard in his chest as he comes up to the register that he’s sure Maka or the cashier is going to comment on it, but Maka just looks at him with a faintly interested expression. “You okay?”

“Yup.” Soul’s voice comes out as a sharp squeak, and she frowns slightly, but the cashier speaks before she can say anything.

“Here’s your change.” Unlike Maka, the girl behind the counter couldn’t be more uninterested in his weird behavior, lifting out a hand to give Maka a few coins.

“Thank you.” Maka gives the cashier a smile that the girl doesn’t return, and then she turns to Soul, who quickly twists away from the register before the cashier can look at him.

His hands are shaking as the exit draws closer; he shoves them in his pockets to keep Maka from noticing.

“Earth to Soul.”

He starts at Maka’s voice as they pass through the exit, sure that the sirens are about to sound behind them. But they don’t go off, nor does the cashier come charging out of the store. _Nothing_ happens, and a heady sense of exhilaration sweeps through him, though his hands are still shaking violently.

“Hello?” Maka’s tone carries a trace of annoyance now.

“Sorry.” He lets out a breath, trying to focus. “I just can’t believe it worked.”

She gives him a confused look as they walk. “What worked?”

With fingers that are only shaking slightly, Soul takes out the nail polish.

Maka stares at the green polish for a moment. “But I didn’t see you pay for that.”

Then, the truth hits her face, and her face contorts into an indignantly irate expression. “You stole it?”

Soul isn’t sure what he was expecting, or even what he wasn’t expecting; in fact, he hadn’t been thinking at all when he took the nail polish. “It’s just a bottle of nail polish.”

Maka grabs him by the hand again, all but dragging him to the side of the wide walkway. She releases him with a glare. “Do you know people have lost their jobs for exactly what you just pulled?” she hisses. “What were you thinking?”

“You wanted it, didn’t you?” he says. “Besides, I doubt anyone will catch it.”

“That doesn’t mean you had to steal it. You could have cost that cashier her job.” Her voice inches higher, and she forces it back down. “What kind of position would you have put your brother in if you had gotten caught?”

The last part hits Soul harder than he expects. He wants to admit he was wrong, but something in him won’t let him. “I doubt anyone will catch it,” he says, shrugging. “And if they do, it’ll probably won’t be today.”

It’s precisely the wrong thing to say. “When people steal from my store, the cost to cover it comes straight from our profits,” she says, not bothering to lower her voice now. “Which means a smaller paycheck for me. You might have gotten away this time, but it adds up.”

He doesn’t know what to say or do.

“Do you want me to put it back?” he asks finally.

“And risk you getting caught after you already got away with it?”

There’s silence; they don’t look at each other or move.

“Why did you do it?” she asks.

He can’t be completely truthful, but he tries to get close to it. “I just thought it was ridiculous that you thought that everything meant a pretzel and two bottles of nail polish,” he says, still not able to look at her face. “Because you deserve much more than just that.”

There is more silence-he would have thought she had left if he wasn’t looking at her feet.

“Listen, I appreciate the sentiment,” Maka says finally. “It means...a lot.”

He dares to glance up at her face; there’s a mix of emotions there: anger, frustration, surprise, and a strange kind of longing.

“But that doesn’t mean you can do that.” She gestures to the nail polish, then looks him in the eyes. “You’re better than that, you know?”

He can barely manage the tiny jerk of his head that he gives in reply.

Maka searches his face for a long moment-he doesn’t know what she’s looking for, or whether she finds it, as she takes a step back.

“Alright,” she says. “Let’s go home.”


	12. Wrong Side of Reality

_Lesson 12: Always keep a firm grip on your senses._

* * *

_There is a thread peeking out from the hem of his sleeve._

_Out of all the things that could go wrong today, this is relatively minor. But given the fact he’s due to go onstage in five minutes and his nerves stretched to snapping, it’s a catastrophe._

_He tells himself to take deep breaths, but anxiety has slipped a noose around his neck. Looking in the mirror of the ancient dressing room table his school bought years ago, he asks himself again why he agreed to perform when he promised to never perform again after humiliating himself by having an anxiety attack onstage two years ago._

_The better part of him argues that it’s to honor his grandmother, after all, the thing that had gotten him to sign up in the first place was that this entire performance, more like a talent show, was part of a charity effort by the high school to help cover the cost of the damage that the storm did to the town, and to build infrastructure to keep the same damage from happening again in the future._

**_A lot of good it’ll do for your grandma,_ ** _quips a voice from the worse part of him. **Screw them all.**_

_He shifts his gaze away from the mirror, unable to look at himself anymore. The thing that makes this performance even worse than two years ago is that he was scheduled to go onstage last, meaning he had to watch as his fellow performers exited the room one by one until he was alone._

_The voice speaks again. **At least you can have your breakdown in private.**_

_His hands, flattened on the table, curl slowly into fists as his heart thrums wildly in his chest, his breathing becoming more and more shallow. Reality feels too soft sometimes, too breakable._

_“Hey.”_

_He jumps a foot in the air as Kim pokes her head, looking even more imperious than usual with the stage manager’s clipboard in her hand._

_“Maybe you can knock next time?” he says, scowling at her as he covers the sleeve with the loose thread with one hand._

_“I’ll make a note of it,” she replies, looking supremely unimpressed. “Anyways, I wanted to let you know there’s been a delay. You’re on in ten minutes.”_

_“Why?” he demands, but she’s already walking away._

_His gaze swings back around to the mirror as his hand falls away from his sleeve. All he can focus on is the red thread, standing out like a sore thumb against the black pinstripe of his suit._

_He gets up from his seat, looking around the room for a pair of scissors, a knife, anything, to cut the thread off._

_The knock on the door is too loud on his ears._

_He looks up, expecting to see Kim ready to lead him to his imminent doom._

_Instead, Maka is there, which is simultaneously the best and worst thing that could happen._

_“Hi.” She smiles at him as she enters the room. Her dress is almost the same shade of green as her eyes, matching the heels she walks slightly awkwardly in. “I just wanted to wish you luck.”_

_He pushes back the laugh that rises in his throat. “You mean you wanted to see me one last time?”_

_A frown crosses her face as she comes to a stop a few feet away from him. “You don’t have to do this, if you don’t want to.”_

_He refuses with a rapid shake of his head. “I have to do one thing for her,” he says, mind unwillingly flicking back to the night she died. “I owe her.”_

_Maka gives him a confused look, but she knows grief as well as he does so she doesn’t argue. Instead, she takes a step closer. “Well, is there anything I can do to help?”_

_Casting one look around the room, he sees nothing that can cut the thread. He holds his hand up. “Do you have something to cut this off?”_

_Her eyes go to his sleeve, and she holds out a hand. “Let me see.”_

_He does as she says, and watches as one of her hands cradles his while the other deftly pulls off the thread in one movement. “There.”_

_“Thanks,” he says, letting out a breath. It doesn’t solve everything that’s wrong, but it helps._

_“Of course.” Maka doesn’t let go of his hand, however, and he looks up, opening his mouth, when she surges forward and pushes up on her tip-toes to press her lips against his._

_The kiss only lasts for a second, and when she pulls away, her face is red and she doesn’t look at him. “Anyways, good luck,” she says in a voice that’s much more high-pitched than normal._

_She leaves before there’s time for Soul to say anything, which is just as well because he has no idea what to say. He stands there in a slight daze until Kim pokes her head into the room again._

_“You’re on in two minutes,” she says, writing something on her clipboard. “Thank goodness you’re not using fire.”_

_Soul stares at her blankly, and an impatient bite comes into her voice. “Why are you standing around like you’ve turned into a zombie?” she snaps. “Get going.”_

_He can’t quite feel himself as he goes out of the dressing room and comes to a stop in the wings, although his nerves return in full force when he peeks out at the audience. The auditorium is one of the only places the school spent any money on, and the benches that they recently added in are packed full. He can’t see his parents, Wes, or Black Star in the crowd, much less Maka._

**_Run,_ ** _a voice in his head yells at him. The world has a surreal kind of haze about it, like he could do anything and it wouldn’t matter. **Disappear.**_

_Forcing himself to look away from the audience, his gaze goes to the stage where a girl with black hair is playing the cello. Beyond her, he can see Hiro standing with his violin in the other wing, and he regrets not taking Wes’ offer to accompany him because working with Hiro was nearly unbearable._

_He tries to push it all out of his head, taking a step back and jams his foot into the batting cart resting next to him. Gritting his teeth, he curse the fact that their school has no form of actual storage, shaking out the dull pain shooting through his foot._

_The sound of applause brings his attention back to the stage, and he watches as the black-haired girl bows, the curtain dropping after a moment. The stage hands spring into action as soon as the curtain is completely down, wheeling out the piano he’ll be playing on in less than a minute. He stays in the wings since Hiro had insisted they should walk onto the stage after the curtain went up-they would be entering from the opposite sides of the stage, which was “for the symmetry” as Kid, the show director, had put it._

_His heart is no longer in his chest, but in his throat, pulsing against the noose wrapped around it._

_“Good luck,” says the black-haired girl as she exits the stage. Her words are muffled by the roaring in his ears. “Do your best.”_

_She gives him a small smile, but it fades when she looks at his face, and she quickly walks past him._

**_Breathe,_ ** _he screams at himself, staring at his feet. **Move.**_

_There’s a rustling noise as the curtain goes up again; in his mind’s eye, he can see the piano waiting for him onstage, illuminated with a bright spotlight, and through the buzzing flooding through his head, he can hear the polite applause as Hiro walks onstage._

_Soul stays rooted where he is._

_There’s a pocket of silence after Hiro’s footsteps fade away, and he knows they’re waiting for him. Distantly, a voice in his mind is yelling at him to get help, to run, to do something, but the only thing he can do is move his head._

_When he looks up again, the world has turned to blood. Oozing waves of blood black as night coming from the wall, from the ceiling, from everywhere._

_“Do you have rocks in your head?” Hiro’s voice comes from somewhere beyond the blood, muted and not quite real._

_The blood lets out a soft sigh as it continues to swirl around him. He thinks he catches the glimmer of another voice, unearthly and not quite real either._

_Nothing is real._

_Something wraps around his hand as he comes to this realization, and he thinks nothing of it to reach out to where he knows the batting cart is, grab a bat, and swing it up in an arc, where it lands with a sickening crunch._

* * *

Soul wakes up to an incessant banging on his door that makes him wildly think for a moment as he struggles to untangle himself from the covers that his room is being barraged by cannonfire.

“This is the police,” Black Star’s voice comes out unmuffled even through he’s separated by the door, “open up.”

He stumbles over his feet as he crosses the room to open his door, regarding Black Star with bleary eyes. “You are lucky I’m too tired to kill you.”

“Like you’d be much of a match even when you’re completely rested,” Black Star responds casually as he enters Soul’s room. He collapses on Soul’s bed, and then sits up, looking around the room. “Wow, this place is more a of a mess than I remembered.”

“Yeah, well my personal housekeeper took a vacation,” he mutters as he pushes empty chip bags and food containers out of the way. He’d brought about half of the pantry up with him after Maka dropped him off yesterday. Taking a seat at the front of the bed, he resists the urge to check his phone to see if she’s texted him like he did for most of the night yesterday, knowing what the answer will be.

“You know what today is?” asks Black Star after a moment of silence.

Soul thinks for a second. “Wednesday?”

“It’s Wednesday, my dude!” Black Star yells, throwing his hands in the air. “It’s also my day off so we’re gonna live it up today!”

“Keep it down,” Soul hisses, eyes darting to the open door. “My parents are sleeping.”

“No, they’re not,” says Black Star in confusion. “They were leaving when I got here.”

He frowns. “They were?”

Black Star puts his hands up in a shrugging gesture. “How do you think I got in here?”

“Illegally,” he replies, running a hand through his hair. “Did they say where they were going?”

“Nope.” He shakes his head. “But if they’re anything like Sid and Nygus, it’s probably to spend some _quality_ time together.”

“I’m going to stop you right there.” He rubs his face. Now that he’s awake, the memories of yesterday prod at him painfully, although there are certain memories that feel more like a caress. Overall, though, the memories doesn’t mix well with his dream of The Incident, particularly his experience in the mausoleum.

Soul speaks so he doesn’t have to think. “Hang on, if it’s your day off, wouldn’t you want to spend it with Kid?”

“Normally, yes.” The cheeriness in Black Star’s voice dims. “But he’s visiting his family today, and he likes to do it alone.” His tone tells Soul that he isn’t happy with Kid’s stance on the matter in the slightest.

“Why is he so mysterious about his family, anyways?” he asks, crossing his legs together. “Did they really name him Kid?”

Black Star, perpetual chatterbox and gossip, only shakes his head. “Not my place to tell, dude,” he says. “All I can tell you is that they don’t deserve him.” Disgust enters his voice. “I’ll be glad when we move so he doesn’t feel obligated to visit so often.” He presses his lips together, as if to keep himself from saying anymore.

“But his family didn’t name him Kid,” he tacks on after a second. “That was my nickname for him when we first met.”

“Really?” Soul blinks in surprise. “I always thought that was his real name.”

“Because that’s how I introduced him,” he says. “And he was too nice to ask me to change it. So it’s stuck now.”

“He’s lucky you chose Kid, then.” He’s unable to resist the urge to pick up his phone anymore.

There are no messages waiting for him, and he pretends he doesn’t care.

“Did you talk to Maka?”

He looks up to find Black Star studying him with an unusually astute look. “Yes,” he admits, because it’s easier to tell the truth in this case.

Black Star reaches out to poke him in the arm. “And?”

“It went well,” he shrugs, “but then I messed it up.”

His eyes narrow. “How?”

“We went to the mall to celebrate her birthday, I stole a bottle of nail polish for her, and she got mad.” He points to the nail polish sitting on the desk. Maka had refused to take it when he offered it to her one last time before he left her car, although she had promised to send pictures of her nails when she used the blue nail polish later. “By the way, why didn’t you remind me it was her birthday?” he asks as Black Star gets up to examine the bottle. “I totally forgot.”

“I’m not your keeper, dude,” he says, picking up the nail polish. “Was she still mad at you when you left her?”

He holds up the phone. “She said she was going to text me, but she hasn’t.”

Black Star leaps in the air like a lion tackles an antelope, letting the nail polish drop onto the desk. “You need to text her,” he says, waving his hands frantically. “It’s eleven-thirty so she’s probably on her lunch break.”

“But she was supposed to text me.”

“Yeah, and that didn’t happen so now you have to take the lead.” Black Star crashes right next to him on the bed, reaching for the phone that Soul immediately puts out of arm’s reach. “How are you going to make any progress if you leave her hanging?”

“She’s the one that left me hanging.” He angles the arm holding the phone away from Black Star, on the verge of tipping over. “What am I supposed to say?”

“You left her hanging for three years, and ‘hi’ generally works,” Black Star says with a huff, still straining to reach the phone. “I know,” he says suddenly. “Invite her to hang out with us today! I can make an excuse to leave after a while.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Why?” Black Star demands. “Because you don’t want to talk to her?”

“You know that’s not true.”

“Then?”

He stops struggling, and after a moment, he sighs. “If you stop trying to crush me, I’ll text her.”

Black Star scrambles off of him; he stares at the phone for a long minute, and then begins to type.

_Soul: hey are we cool after yesterday?_

_Maka: we talked about it and moved on. Why wouldn’t we be?_

_Soul: you never sent me the pictures of your nails :[_

_Maka: shit sorry i fell asleep before i could send them and i must have forgot_

_Maka: what do you think? I thought they came out rather well_

Thirty seconds later, two pictures of violently blue fingernails fill Soul’s screen.

“That’s a hideous color,” comments Black Star.

_Soul: well your nails are a different color that’s a plus_

_Maka: funny_

_Soul: hey do you want to hang out with me and star? Kid’s out and he’s missing him_

Black Star slaps his shoulder. “Thanks for that, I’m never going to hear the end of it now.”

“No problem.”

_Maka: I’d love to but I was supposed to prep the shop for harvfest yesterday and now its really busy_

_Soul: we can help_

_Maka: I appreciate it but my dad’s here and it’s better if you don’t come_

_Maka: but I’ll see you at harvfest?_

_Soul: I’ll be the palecat with the red hat_

_Maka: and i’ll be the witch with the purple hat_

“Well, that wasn’t bad,” says Black Star as Soul puts down his phone. “Awkward and painful to watch, but not terrible.”

“I guess not,” he agrees. He looks at Black Star for a moment. “So we’re each other’s back-up plans, then?”

“That’s a good name for it,” he says, jumping to his feet.

* * *

Black Star takes them past Tick Tock’s, parking at the very edge of town, where a chain link fence is all that separates them from the forest and the old mines that lie a mile or so away.

“What are we doing here?” Soul asks as Black Star pulls the key from ignition.

“Hanging out like old times,” He reaches into the console and bringing out two very faded bandanas, one red and the other blue. “Remember these?”

“How could I not?” he says as he takes the red bandana. Playing capture the flag one-on-one was boring, except when Black Star is the opponent.

Still, he hesitates when they get out of the car and approach the fence. Black Star gives him an impatient look when he pauses. “What is it?”

“It’s illegal to go over the fence,” he says, fully aware of Maka’s presence in his head as he speaks.

Black Star snorts, stuffing his bandana into his pocket. There’s some of the old recklessness in his voice as he answers him. “Do you want to borrow my phone to call the police?”

“Shut up.” That’s all it takes for his apprehension to dissolve away; he wraps the bandana around his wrist as he grabs the fence and hooks his foot into one tiny squares. It takes more effort than he’s willing to admit to scale the ten foot fence, although he lands on his feet when he drops to the ground.

“Alright, you know the rules,” says Black Star as they enter the forest, taking out the bandana to wrap around his wrist like Soul. “Thirty minutes to steal the flag. No going to the mines and no burying yourself in the bushes.”

“No tackling each other to get the flag either,” Soul reminds him. “I still have a scar from where you slammed me into that rock.”

“Right, right.” Black Star checks his phone. “Ten minutes to hide?”

Soul glances at his phone and then towards the woods, already running through his old hiding places. “Sounds good to me.”

They nod at each other, and, by some unspoken cue, they go in opposite directions as they enter the woods.

Despite his protesting muscles, Soul forces himself to run as fast as he can, purposely leaving an obvious path that he doubles back on about five minutes later, taking care to leave no footprints when he diverges from it.

A stitch in his side starts to develop as he comes to a stop in front of the old oak that has a perfect nook for him to look out for Black Star, along with being close enough that he can easily jump to the next tree.

His arms, still sore and angry at him for his adventure climbing the tunnel, yell at him as he pulls himself on the first branch, but he ignores it. This spot is the only place where Black Star never managed to find him before the time limit ran out.

The branches of the oak tree groan the higher he climbs, where they hadn’t before, and he comes to a stop when the branch right before the nook starts to shake under his weight. He lowers himself to the branch below, which isn’t as comfortable as the nook, but he supposes it’s just another thing that’s changed in the time he’s been gone.

However, he still has a good vantage point of the forest from here-he can even see the junction where the entrance of the old mines meet the forest. Breathing heavily, he takes out his phone and sees that three minutes have already passed since their time to hide ran out.

Moving carefully, Soul sits on the branch, pretending to ignore the loud creak it gives as he does. With Black Star as the opposing team, he doesn’t have to worry about needing to seek him out.

His mind settles as the minutes tick by, thoughts drifting back to yesterday. He firmly shuts out the mall, even the first time Maka took his hand, and the memories of what happened at the church yesterday rise to the surface.

He fiddles with the knot of the bandana around his wrist as he thinks of the ghostly figure that pushed him into the mausoleum. Unlike his breakdown, there’s no realistic explanation for the figure or the voice he’s been hearing.

Rubbing his face tiredly, he steers his thoughts away from the mausoleum. If he thinks too hard about the strange things and dreams he’s over the past few days, his head is going to erupt.

The breeze coming from the dead mountain that used to be the lifeblood of Shibunsen Springs brushes against his face in gentle sweeps as the minutes continue to tick by. There’s only nine minutes on the clock when he hears a snapping sound below him.

“Shit.” The word comes out as a breath as he peers down, looking for Black Star’s rainbow-colored head, but he spies nothing but the bushes and foliage beneath him. Exhaling, he leans back, figuring it was a squirrel or a rabbit foraging around.

And then he hears the distinct rustling sound of something climbing the tree.

He scrambles to his feet, nearly losing his balance and grabbing the trunk of the tree just in time.

“Star?” He does nothing to lower his voice as he peers frantically below him. He can see nothing but the branches, but the noise of someone or something climbing continues to get closer.

There’s no answer when he calls again. Whatever it is, it’s definitely not Black Star.

Panic rises in his throat as the thing or person gets closer and closer. There’s no point in risking climbing higher and hoping that his weight doesn’t break a branch when whatever is chasing him merely just has climb up after him.

He glances down at the ground. If he jumps from where he’s at, the best he could hope for is a broken leg and maybe a coma. Swallowing, he looks at the tree next to the oak. It’s close, but still far enough that he has a very real chance of missing the branch entirely.

The thing beneath doesn’t give him any option, however. It sounds like it’s only a couple branches below, and he takes a deep breath before he jumps.

His eyes are halfway closed as he crashes onto the branch, and he feels himself topple dangerously to one side, almost overbalancing. He wraps his arms around the branch, righting himself as he clamps his legs around the branch as well.

The branch is shaking from how forcefully he landed on it. He waits to lift his face from where he has it pressed against the bark until it stops moving. Tentatively, he raises his hand. His arms quake as he pushes himself up into a sitting position.

He examines his hands, which are still covered in band-aids, slightly relieved to find none of them have opened up again, although he has plenty of new scrapes. There’s a warm wetness on his right knee, though he can’t see how badly he’s cut with his jeans on.

Moving his gaze away from his hands, his heart begins to pick up speed as he looks over at the oak tree.

His eyes flick up and down the tree, once, twice, three times. There’s nothing there, not even a bird or a squirrel.

“Found you!”

Black Star’s voice ricochets through the forest as Soul nearly topples from the branch. He rights himself, spotting the bright colors of his hair among the brown and green of the forest.

“Is this really your great hiding spot?” Black Star calls as Soul begins to clamber down. “It’s so obvious.”

“And yet, you never found me here before,” he retorts.

“A mistake I won’t make again.”

Soul misses his step on the last branch and falls the rest of the short distance to the ground, landing on his back. He lets out a cough as he feels Black Star snatch the bandana from his wrist.

He waves the bandana in front of his face. “I win.”

“You mean you took advantage of my obvious surrender,” says Soul as he sits up and gets to his feet. His eyes flick back up to the tree, and he speaks before he can think better, “Did you try sneaking up the tree before calling my name?”

“Dude, I’m not sure if you noticed, but sneaking isn’t exactly my style,” Black Star replies, holding out the red bandana. “Wanna go again?”

Shaking his head, Soul resists the shiver crawling down his spine. “Why don’t we explore for a bit?”

Black Star makes a face, but he doesn’t argue. “Fine,” he says. “You lead the way.”

Soul has no particular place in mind as he walks deeper and deeper into the forest. There’s an inkling of an idea to visit the stream where they used to go fishing or to visit the entrance to the old mines, but he only wanders vaguely in that direction.

They’re both quiet as they walk, although there is a jittery aura about Black Star. His fingers tap against his sides in a frenetic rhythm, and he seems to be bouncing on his toes as they walk, looking at his phone every couple minutes. Soul says nothing, however, continuing to pick his way through the trees.

Finally, Black Star’s silence breaks. “Ugh, why hasn’t he called?” he bursts out, aiming a kick at a nearby tree.

Soul stops walking, leaning against the trunk of another tree. “I assume ‘he’ is Kid.”

“Obviously,” he says irritably, throwing himself down on an overgrown tree root. “He was supposed to call when he got home, and it’s been over twenty minutes since he said he was going to be home.”

“Twenty minutes doesn’t seem like that long to be late,” Soul says mildly.

“Maybe, but you don’t know his family.” He jumps to his feet again. “They’re-”

He breaks off. “Terrible.”

Soul picks up a fallen branch from the ground, examining it idly. “Then why does Kid insist on visiting them?”

Black Star lets out a sigh. “He feels like he has to.”

“Why?”

“That’s what I’d like to know.” He surges forward, not waiting for Soul, who scrambles to his feet, branch still in his hand. “Let’s keep walking.”

He watches Black Star’s back as the trees start to thicken, the space between one tree to the next narrowing. A voice nags at him that he should say something, but he has no idea what.

It’s quiet for a few more minutes.

Then, Soul opens his mouth. “Listen,” he starts, trying to think of what Wes or Maka would say. “I know you’re worried about him, but Kid is your boyfriend. Don’t you think he would talk to you if he was in trouble or call you if he needed help?”

“Maybe,” comes Black Star’s stiff reply. Then, his shoulders sag. “Yeah.”

“See,” he says brightly, glad he’s said something right for once. “All you have to do is trust in that.”

Black Star’s tone is reluctantly accepting. “I guess,” he says. “Still doesn’t make me want to cut his idiot brother’s tires any less though.”

He resists the urge to ask about it. “I’d help you with that.”

A snort comes from Black Star. “I’m sure you would,” he says. “But I don’t want to cause Kid any more problems.”

“Fair enough.”

The trees open unexpectedly into a giant clearing as he speaks, and Black Star points ahead of them. “Look!”

A truck, ancient and rusted, sits in the middle of the clearing. _It has to be well over forty years old,_ Soul thinks as they approach it. The truck has weeds and plants growing through its wheels, and one of its mirrors hangs lopsidedly from the truck, only holding on by the rust encrusted on the joint connecting it to the car.

The branch he carries drags on the ground, and he leans against it as he comes to a stop while Black Star circles the truck. “Who do you think it belonged to?”

“Maybe someone who died from a cave-in?” he suggests.

“Wouldn’t their family have come looking for the truck?”

“Who would find it in the middle of the woods?” Soul asks. “Plus the forest was a lot more overgrown than now.”

Black Star tries to open the driver’s door. “Then how did the truck get here in the first place?”

“Magical transportation powers,” he answers, watching Black Star wrestle with the handle.

He grunts, still pulling. “Now that’s just stu-”

The handle breaks off with a weak groan, and Black Star stumbles back with it in his hand.

“Nice.”

“Shut up, like-” Black Star’s gaze goes to the branch in Soul’s hand, and a gleam that promises nothing good lights in his eyes. “Feel like another competition?”

“A competition,” Soul repeats. “For what?”

Black Star doesn’t answer him, however, disappearing back into the forest, although he emerges shortly with a branch similar in size to Soul’s.

“To see who can do the most damage,” he answers, hopping up onto the truck bed, which makes the truck waver unsteadily. He points to Soul with the branch. “You in?”

Distantly, Soul is aware this isn’t a very good idea, but he also has very little desire to listen. He takes position by the door that Black Star pulled the handle off of. “I’m in.”

Black Star brings the branch down in a mighty arc above his head. “GO!”

Soul tightens his grip on the branch before swinging it at the truck window with as much force as he can muster. The window does not shatter, nor does the branch break, surprisingly, although the glass does eventually give in after a few more swings, splitting into a dozen pieces.

Meanwhile, Black Star is making quick work of the rear window, letting out wordless cries with each hit. Soul, on the other hand, is quiet as he slams the branch against the body of the truck, before running to the opposite side of the car to work on the other window. This time, the branch does break under the strength of the window, but he doesn’t let that slow him down, picking up fist sized rocks on the ground and hurling them against the glass.

Black Star joins him when he gets to the windshield and headlights, although he loses control of himself, picking rocks and clods of dirt to throw against the front of the car with a reckless kind of glee, while Soul stays focused on breaking the windshield apart.

He’s not sure why it fills him with such joy when the windshield finally shatters, only that something inside of him is clamoring for more. He starts when a hand touches his shoulder, whirling around to swing the rock in his hand down when he spots Black Star, stopping just in time from slamming the rock into his head.

“Sorry.” The word tumbles out of his mouth. “I got caught up.”

“I’ll say,” Black Star says, gesturing to the ruined front of the truck. “But so did I.”

Soul surveys the broken back window and the large dents running along both sides of the truck. “Think we can call this one a tie,” he says finally.

Before he can answer, an angry voice yells from the thick of the trees. “What are you kids doing?”

Black Star’s reaction as they recognize Marie’s voice is immediate. “Run!”

Soul throws the rock to the ground as they make for the forest, not looking behind him in case Marie is chasing them, though he knows with his white hair and Black Star’s rainbow head, they’ll be easy to identify.

He nearly crashes headfirst into Black Star when he lurches to a halt. “What are you doing?” he yells in a whisper as Black Star looks up and down a tree. “She’s not that far behind us.”

“Climb,” he answers, pointing to the tree next to his, then moving to scramble onto the first branch.

“What?”

“Climb, dude!”

There’s no time to argue; Soul pulls himself with a groan onto the branch lowest to the ground, hauling himself up branch after branch until he hears Marie’s footsteps. He tries not to breathe loudly as her footsteps near, high enough that he can see above the treeline.

The gold of Marie’s hair catches on the light as she pauses underneath the trees Soul and Black Star have hidden themselves. Soul spies Black Star with his back pressed against the trunk, hands covering his hair, and he does the same, moving as quietly as he can.

Marie hasn’t moved, looking around her. After a few moments, she glances upward in Soul’s direction, and he freezes, heart pounding in his chest. She looks away just as quickly, however, and after another moment, she moves on, heading deeper into the forest.

He looks at Black Star, who has clearly just let out a sigh of relief, though he puts a finger to his lips when he makes eye contact with Soul.

Nodding, he relaxes and lets out the breath he had been holding. At first, all he can hear is the sound of his thudding heart, slowly working its way back to its normal pace, but after a minute, he hears it.

Soul listens intently to the echoing breeze weaving its way through the trees. On the wind rises a voice, but it’s not Marie’s or Black Star’s-it’s a voice he’s heard in his dreams and when awake.

His eyes scour the expanse of the forest to find where the voice is coming from, where it sounds the loudest, though it takes him a moment.

The voice seems to grow louder as his gaze falls on the entrance to the mines.


	13. Interlude [Sky Cat]

_Lesson 13: Conversations with talking animals are generally a bad idea._

* * *

_The blood dumps him out into the glowing landscape of the forest. He takes his time getting up from the ground. He’s near the edge of the hill that he traveled up last night, but when he peeks over the edge, the town is nothing more than a faintly glowing array of lights against the dark._

_Without the bat, there is no desire to visit the glowing statues he knows are waiting above, so he walks deeper into the forest, his path illuminated by the violet and emerald glow of the trees._

_He walks for an eternity, although in the night of the endless forest, it might be no more than a moment. Whichever it is, he eventually comes across a giant clearing. He drifts forward until he reaches the middle, looking up._

_The sky is visible from here, a velvety blue that’s almost black, but not quite. Silver stars dot the sky, arranged in a pattern that seems incredibly familiar, although he doesn’t see it until he squints._

_“A cat,” he murmurs, words echoing like ripples throughout the silent forest. “You’re a sky cat.”_

_“If that’s what you’d like to call me.”_

_Soul jumps back, and suddenly the sky cat isn’t in the sky anymore. Its infinite eyes regard him with no emotion. “You are a strange little creature.”_

_It’s only a dream, so he isn’t afraid. He draws closer to the cat, eyeing the moving galaxies of stars woven into its fur. “Are you God?”_

_“If you’d like to call me that instead, I do not care.” The cat’s mouth does not move as it speaks; in fact, its voice doesn’t even seem to come from itself, but all around him. “I suppose that is what I am to you, although that is not what I am to myself.”_

_“Fine,” he says after a moment of trying and failing to work out what the sky cat means. “Then, you’re God.”_

_The cat blinks at him. “You little creatures like to find meaning in everything.”_

_“Isn’t that the point to all this?”_

_The cat only gives a sigh._

_“If you’re God, then can you see everything?” he asks, trying again._

_“The Beginning was moments ago, and the End is moments away,” the cat replies. “The universe eats itself and spits itself back out, forgetting everything. That is the nature of things.”_

_He starts to become annoyed. “Am I supposed to know what any of that means?”_

_“You are Monstrous Existence,” answers the cat. “It is not the nature of atoms to understand themselves.”_

_“I’m a lot more than atoms, and so are my friends.” He jabs a finger at the cat. “What’s going to happen to them? To my town?” he demands. “Are you the thing that’s been calling me?”_

_“You experience things on such a tiny scale, it is not a surprise you understand nothing.” The cat’s tail flicks, and the stars in its fur swirl in tandem with it. “It is why I do not make it a point to mingle in the affairs of little creatures.”_

_His hands ball into fists. “Then what is calling me?”_

_The cat doesn’t answer._

_Soul throws his hands in the air. “What is the point to all of this?”_

_“The universe is forgetting you,” says the cat after a long silence. “But I will remember you, not because I care or because I want to, but because you were here.”_

_Another silence follows, shorter this time._

_“You know what, I don’t care if you’re God,” Soul says as he starts to walk away from the cat. “You’re a really big jerk.”_


	14. Let's Kill Tonight

_Lesson 14: It’s never a good idea to fight a ghost._

* * *

Soul twitches as his mother pricks him with her needle as she finishes hemming his costume.

She frowns, tugging on his costume. “Hold still.”

“That would be easier to do if you weren’t stabbing me.”

“You’re as dramatic as your father,” she says as she finishes, leaning back on her stool.

“I am not.” His father’s voice comes from where he sits in the living room, reading the newspaper before he goes to work. “My range for emotions is just higher than most other people.”

His mother rolls her eyes as she gestures Soul to come down from the dining chair she had him standing on. “That’s also where you get your humor.”

“I see no problem with that,” he says as he steps down, making her roll her eyes again. He goes off to the bathroom to check his reflection, pleased to see Palecat staring back at him in the mirror.

Or as close as he can get to Palecat anyways.

He adjusts his red hat so that it hides most of his hair, although a few white wisps still escape, and straightens the green shawl covering the tunic that is the exact shade of Palecat’s actual tunic. Then he goes into the storage closet next to the garage, retrieving the plastic sword his mother bought him in fifth grade, and goes back to the kitchen, where both of his parents now are.

“Ta da.” He strikes a pose with his sword. “What do you think?”

His father pushes up his glasses. “A little surprised you’re still dressing up for HarvFest actu-” He breaks off as his mother elbows him in the ribs. “Your costume looks better than it came out the first time you dressed up. I can barely tell the sword is fake.”

He lets the sword drop to his side, not bothering to hide his annoyance. “Thanks.”

“You look great,” his mother says, reaching out to move his hat and undo the work he just did.

Scowling, he dodges her hand. “I’m not a kid, Mom.”

“You’re certainly an adult acting like one, though,” she says, pushing his hat back so more of his face shows. “You’re lucky I still had Grandma Evans’ old sewing kit.”

“Right.” After the week he’s had, he doesn’t need to add on his unresolved grief regarding his grandmother. “Thanks.”

“We aren’t going to be home until morning since we’re helping the store with HarvFest,” his father says. “But you’re welcome to drop by, if you remember you have parents.”

“Maybe I’ll put a reminder on my phone,” he answers dryly. “Why is a corporation like Gorgon Mart celebrating a tiny town’s founding festival anyways?”

His mother sounds surprised. “The Gorgon sisters were born not too far from here,” she says. “Didn’t you know that?”

“I am not that well-versed in local history.”

“We’ll have to change that, now that you’re back,” his father says, searching for something in the kitchen drawers. “Maybe go to the museum or historical society sometime.”

“Sounds like a thrilling adventure.” He’s not used to having so much of his parents’ attention, especially at the same time. “Isn’t Wes supposed to be home by now?”

“He’s spending the weekend with a few friends in the city,” his mother replies, putting on the putrid yellow vest that Gorgon Mart makes their employees wear. “He probably won’t be back until Monday.”

“Can we afford that?” The question escapes from his mouth before he can think better of it.

A silence fills the kitchen as his parents look at each other.

“Of course, we can,” says his father after another moment. “What would give you the idea that we can’t?”

He is intensely uncomfortable as he shifts from one foot to another, not meeting either of his parents’ eyes. “Well, I know you have to pay for fall semester, even though I didn’t spend much time being enrolled,” he mumbles, fixing his gaze on the floor tile in front of him. “And Wes had to drop out to do your job while you had to get second jobs.”

“That doesn’t mean we can’t afford to live,” his father says. “Just because we’ve had to buckle down so much.”

The words leak out of him unintentionally. “Doesn’t seem that way to me.”

His mother puts her hands on his shoulders, forcing him to look up, although he focuses his gaze on the space above her shoulder. “Wes is going to be able to go back to school in about a year,” she says in a gentle voice that makes him want to melt underneath the kitchen floor. “And we’ll be able to go back to our old jobs.”

He blinks, eyes flicking to her and then to his father. “Really?”

“Yes.” His father nods. “Didn’t you know that?”

Soul shakes his head.

“Now, you do,” his mother tells him. “Does that help?”

“The mall isn’t doing that good,” he says instead of answering her question.

“It’s not,” she agrees. “But we can deal with that bridge when we get there.”

His father draws closer to him now, awkwardly putting a hand on Soul’s shoulder, but attempting to be comforting all the same. “We’ll survive because that’s what families do,” he says. “Even if we have to let all of your mother’s flowers die.”

She slaps his arm. “Not all of them.”

Soul lets himself relax in their touch for a moment, and then he shrugs away, stepping back. “Well, that was very touching,” he says, getting a firmer grip on his sword. “But it’s getting late.”

“Be safe.” His mother attempts to fix his hat one last time.

“I will.”

“And make sure to tell us when you get home,” says his father as he goes back to searching through the kitchen drawers.

“I will,” he repeats as he treks through the living room to the front door.

“And make sure to wear your helmet when you’re riding your bike,” his mother calls as he opens the door.

“ _I will!”_

* * *

Night has thoroughly settled in by the time Soul bikes into town. The streets are even more deserted than usual, although in the distance, he can hear the music coming from Market Street.

Soul lets himself coast to a stop when he gets to the beginning of Market Street, securing his bike to a streetlight using the lock Kid lent him. Dozens of cars clog the streets surrounding Market Street; the only time people from neighboring towns come to visit Shibunsen Springs is HarvFest. Ahead of him are large, orange and white poles standing on either side of the street, newly constructed and holding the huge banner that has _Shibunsen Springs’ 209th HarvFest_ written on it in white block letters against an orange background.

Lantern lights of varying colors flood the street, tinting the world in a technicolor hue. Soul feels distinctly unlike himself as he pulls his hat low to hide his face, and enters the crowd of people walking up and down the street.

But it’s a good thing, he decides, as he ambles lazily down the street. No one recognizes him, and a few children even compliment his costume, or ask if his sword is real. All of the stores on Market Street have their lights on, doors thrown open while employees standing in front of the store, encouraging passerby to come inside to enjoy whatever activity they’ve planned for HarvFest. The festival’s main attraction, a makeshift amusement park and maze sitting in the center of Market Street, attracts the most people, while stations for different games and treats line the street around it.

Eventually, he makes his way to Bid-n-Vid, where Black Star has set up an ice cream stand outside of the store, while Kid collects tickets from the people entering the store, mostly children and their parents. They both wear matching hats in honor of founders John and Steven.

He comes to a stop next to the ice cream stand, where Black Star is arguing with a furious twelve year old boy. “I saw you take that coupon from her,” he says, pointing a little girl standing off to the side, looking absolutely petrified. “You’re not getting an ice cream.”

“Fine,” the boy spits, throwing down the coupon on the counter. “I still have this one I won from a booth.”

Black Star points to the “Right to Refuse Service” sign hanging on one of the tent poles of the stand. “Read the sign, kid.”

The boy throws him a dark look before stalking away. “Whatever.”

“Jerk.” Black Star turns his attention to the little girl. “Do you still want an ice cream?”

Her eyes widen when he addresses her, but she nods.

“My little sister like vanilla with sprinkles best,” Black Star says. “Do you?”

“I like sprinkles, but with chocolate,” the little girl answers, taking a timid step towards the counter. She eyes his hair with apparent curiosity.

“Coming right up.” Black Star scoops the ice cream onto the cone quickly, giving it a copious handful of rainbow colored sprinkles before holding it out the little girl.

“Thank you.” The girl accepts the cone with a timid smile. “I like your hair, by the way.”

“Thanks, me too, kid.” Black Star waves at the little girl as she heads to the Bid-n-Vid.

“Wow,” Soul remarks, drifting over to the counter. “You’re pretty good with kids.”

“To the ones that aren’t assholes, anyways,” Black Star responds. “Besides, I have to be, since Kid and I want a family one day.”

Soul blinks in shock. “You want a family _already_?”

“ _One day_ ,” Black Star corrects.

“What’s one day?” asks Kid as he comes up to the stand.

Black Star flushes. “Nothing.”

Oddly, Kid doesn’t question him any further, only raising an eyebrow. “We’re going to be starting the movie soon, so I think that’s it for ice cream right now.”

“Fine,” he says shortly. “I’ll be right there.”

“Got it.” Kid gives Soul a nod before he disappears back to the store.

He turns to Black Star as soon as Kid is out of earshot. “What was that about?”

“That’s the way he always acts when he comes back from family visits.” Black Star shrugs, like he’s not hurt, but the truth reads plainly on his face. “He goes away from himself for a little while.”

For the first time, Soul thinks he understands Kid a little bit. “That can’t be fun.”

“No.” Black Star flips the _open_ sign hanging on the tent pole to _closed_. “But I’ve learned the best thing is to wait for him to come back.”

His answer surprises Soul. “That’s kind,” he says as Black Star pulls the tent curtain closed and emerges from the tent. “Most people aren’t that patient.”

“I love him,” he says with another shrug, but the expression on his face seems a little lighter. He gestures to the Bid-n-Vid. “Do you want to watch the movie with us?”

“As much as I’d love to watch _Forrest Gump_ to see that one extra from here, I think I’ll pass,” he says. “Besides, I haven’t visited Maka yet.”

“Because a cheesy play of Shibunsen Springs’ founding is so much more thrilling,” Black Star retorts with a knowing look. “Make sure to tell Maka to dim the lights before the showing, and not during it.”

Soul tips him a salute as he heads towards Scythe’n’Saw. “Thank you, director.”

However, when he gets to the shop, the door is closed, but the lights are on. When he tilts his ear to the door, he can hear voices arguing behind it.

There are some people waiting outside of the shop, mostly young families who are hopefully in need of tools and repair services. Or at least, that’s what Maka had told Soul she hoped for when she texted him yesterday.

He clears his throat when it looks like a few families are on the verge of leaving. “Er, I’m friends with the store owner,” he says, trying for a confident voice and failing horribly. “I’m sure she’ll be opening the shop soon.”

As soon as he finishes speaking, the door opens. “See,” he says, turning to face Maka. “I-”

His words break off as he makes eye contact with Spirit Albarn.

Like the rest of the town, his appearance has changed for the worse: unkempt red hair shot through with silver, sallow skin, and a scraggly beard that ages him by ten years. Soul wouldn’t have recognized him if it wasn’t for his eyes, identical to Maka’s.

Spirit doesn’t say anything as he all but pushes Soul to the side, although there is a glimmer of recognition in his eyes as he passes.

Soul is completely speechless, for once. Alcohol would explain the change in Spirit, but he didn’t smell any on his breath when Spirit crashed into him. Before he can think about it anymore or address the confused crowd, a hand pulls him into the shop, pushing the door closed behind him.

Maka’s face is pale underneath her witch’s hat, and her eyes sparkle oddly in the bright light of the store, but her expression is drawn in a fierce determination.

“Okay, long story short, I’m in a bit of a crisis,” she says, words coming in a rush, though her voice is steady. She’s still holding his hand in a tight grip as she continues. “And I don’t have anyone else who can help.”

He understands the question, even if she doesn’t say it. “What do you need?”

* * *

Exactly six minutes later, Soul throws open the door to the Scythe’n’Saw, announcing to the people still waiting in a loud voice, “Come one, come all to the Scythe’n’Saw’s play of the founding of Shibunsen Springs!”

He ushers the people in with a flourish of his hand. For the next ten minutes, he calls out to people passing by, inviting them in, while firmly crushing the part of him who abhors public speaking and interacting with strangers. Still, when Maka touches his hand to pull him back in the store, he breathes a heavy sigh of relief.

“Don’t forget that you only come out onstage when I give the signal,” she says as she walks with him to the back. She pauses when they get to the back door, looking at his face. “Tell me, what’s the signal again?”

“When you throw the purple glitter in the air.”

“Good.” Maka pushes a wisp of hair that’s come free of its pin. She reaches out to squeeze Soul’s hand suddenly when he turns to go. “Thank you.”

She’s already let go of his hand, otherwise he would have squeezed back. Instead, he simply says, “Of course.”

In the back, he changes quickly, putting his hat on a half-empty rack and pulling his shawl over his head. He replaces it with a vest made of faux fur, and jams a beaver hat onto his head.

He emerges from the back just as Maka is settling the crowd, who sit in plastic chairs in the center of the store that she cleared out earlier. Trying to be discreet, he crouches low beneath the counter, which has been draped in a cloth with a very abstract-looking forest painted on it. On the corner of the counter, where a toolbox usually sits, is a paper-mache tree and an ornate bowl of water that stands for the spring their town was named for.

Soul can’t see anything from where he’s at, but the buzz of the crowd hushes and he assumes Maka has done something to get the people’s full attention. Then, the lights in the store go out and the spotlight Maka borrowed from Kid turns on, illuminating the counter, and the silence of the crowd becomes even more expectant.

“Thank you for coming to the Scythe’n’Saw’s fifteenth annual play of Shibunsen Springs’ founding.” Maka has produced a microphone from nowhere, her voice amplified by a speaker he can’t see. “My name is Maka Albarn and I will be your narrator this evening.” Her voice is smooth, and she doesn’t stumble through her introduction, but he can hear the nervousness underlying her words. “We hope you enjoy the show.”

There is a pause as the crowd claps politely, and then Soul pushes a button on the boombox sitting next to him. A folksy sort of tune fills the air as Maka steps onto the counter and begins to speak.

“The year was 1810,” she says, deepening her voice in an effort to sound ageless. “And the country was little more than wild forest, roaring rivers, and sprawling grasslands. It was a dangerous place for people to live, but a haven for the animals who called the area home.”

At her words, the beaver puppets Soul barely shoved his hands into in time appear above the counter. He has no idea how beavers move or behave, so he does his best without being able to see what he’s actually doing, crawling on his knees as he moves the puppets across the makeshift stage. There are a few giggles from what he thinks are little kids, but they don’t sound mocking, so he continues as he is until he reaches the end of the counter with the spring on it.

“In this place was a spring with water so pure, it was said that the water could cure anyone of anything, even someone on the verge of death,” she continues once the beavers disappear back underneath the counter. Her voice goes quiet as she takes on a spooky tone. “However, it was also said that the spring belonged to a very possessive witch.”

Here, Soul pushes another button on the boombox, and the music is replaced by the shrieking laugh of a witch.

The silence of the crowd is rapt as Maka speaks again. “Most people heeded the warnings, but there were a pair of fur trappers who were too tempted by the scores of beavers living in that part of the woods, and so ignored tales of the witch to hunt the beavers and make themselves rich.”

Underneath the counter, Soul readies himself, holding tight to the scarecrow that would act as Founder Steve, and the canvas sack filled with feathers.

“And their names were-”

A spray of purple glitter arcs above the counter, and he hauls himself onto the counter in one leap. The crowd lets out a gasp, along with several oohs, as he sticks the landing. “John,” he announces in a loud voice, balancing the scarecrow with one hand.

“And Steven,” says Maka in a raspy voice, speaking for the scarecrow. She stands on the edge of the counter where the register generally is, a flashlight to her face as she holds the microphone in her other hand.

With a smile that he hopes doesn’t appear too pasted on, Soul tries to make it look like he isn’t dragging the scarecrow beside him as they trek in slow motion across the counter.

“The trappers traveled for many miles, hunting and bagging over three hundred beaver pelts,” says Maka in her narrator voice as Soul pulls out the sack he had been hiding behind the scarecrow. “After many weeks, they ran out of supplies, and soon became very hungry and thirsty. They were on the verge of dying when one day-”

“Look brother,” Soul says loudly to the scarecrow, struggling to remember the script Maka gave him twenty minutes ago. “A spring!”

“We’re saved,” says Maka in her Founder Steve voice. “Huzzah!”

Soul collapses dramatically to his knees by the bowl of water, awkwardly bringing the scarecrow with him, who simply lays flat on the ground. In a fit of inspiration, he dunks his head in the bowl, making sure to hold onto his beaver hat. Laughter ripples through the crowd as he surfaces. “It’s the magic spring the others told us about, brother.”

“And so it was,” Maka says into the microphone, appearing to briefly struggle with regaining her narrator voice. “But just as the pair thought they were saved, disaster struck.”

Indiscreetly, she turns off the spotlight illuminating the stage, and Soul springs into action as she jumps off of the counter, dragging the scarecrow with him across the stage. He counts to five before he turns the light back on, doing his best to appear horrified as Maka stands in front of the spring with her hands raised and fingers splayed.

“It was the witch,” Maka thunders, her voice sounding muted without the microphone. “And she was not happy with the brothers.”

Adopting a croaky voice, she aims a glare at Soul and Founder Steve. “What are you doing at my spring?”

Soul looks the crowd in the eye as he answers, “Drinking.”

There’s another wave of laughter as Maka gives him her best witchlike glower. “Without even offering me a crust of bread or one of your beaver pelts?”

“Do you have any money?” asks Soul.

Maka-the-witch raises her hands even higher. “I curse you and your fellow trapper,” she says. “And you will die tonight!”

Soul pushes the button for the spotlight with his foot, and the light goes out again as Maka scrambles down and takes up her original position, grabbing the microphone and turning on the spotlight.

“And indeed, the fur trappers did die that night,” she intones, back to her narrator voice. “For the witch had cursed the spring!”

Clutching his throat, Soul collapses in slow motion and attempts to appear dead as he throws the scarecrow behind the counter. The, he awkwardly rolls off the counter.

“But things would not end well for the witch either,” Maka continues after he disappears from view. “Since her anger awakened the God of the Forest.”

Soul pushes the last button of the boombox, and Spirit Albarn’s voice echoes through the store. “Witch, you have taken too long at the spring,” he booms. “I hereby banish you to wander the night forevermore!”

“With the witch gone, the spirits of John and Steven haunted the spring, cursed to spend the rest of their existence as ghosts,” says Maka. “But through their foolish actions, they opened up the land to settlers, and Shibunsen Springs came into existence, and for that they are called the founders of our little town.”

With that, she bows with a flourish, and the audience bursts into applause. Soul tries to measure how much of it is genuine as he stands up from beneath the counter, stretching. He’s surprised when Maka gestures for him to get back on the counter.

“A special thanks to Founder John, who also serves as our special effects director,” she says, holding an outstretched arm to Soul as he stands on the counter. “This play wouldn’t have been possible without him.”

Soul does a little bob with his head, eager to get back down, especially since his beaver hat fell off when he ‘died’ and his face is completely visible to the crowd. However, no one in the audience jeers, and he blinks as the applause grows louder.

Maka speaks into the microphone one more time as someone turns the light on. “Thank you for visiting the Scythe’n’Saw, Shibunsen Springs’ number one place for home tools and machinery repairs. Please be sure to check out our wares on your way out!”

Pulling the microphone away from her mouth, she makes eye contact with Soul as people start milling the store. Maka’s eyes are bright, and her face is glowing as she looks at him. “Thank you.”

* * *

“I can’t believe we pulled that off,” Maka says with a slight groan once the last customer leaves the store, kneading her back with her knuckles.

“Neither can I,” Soul answers as he picks up trash from the floor, shucking it into the large trash can in the middle of the shop. “I was sure I was going to forget my lines or mess up somehow.”

“You’ve seen that play a million times,” she says, starting to count the money in the register. “You helped me practice my lines when I first started narrating after my mom died.”

Soul freezes at the mention of Maka’s mother, as does she. Her mother was the elephant in the room Maka had forced them all to ignore, even herself, ever since she passed away in a car accident shortly after Maka turned twelve. He can count on one hand the number of times she’s willingly brought up Kami Albarn.

“Something died in my dad when she died,” she says after a long moment. “Even though they were divorced, he still loved her.”

For once, Soul waits.

“It was bad, but it got worse when I graduated,” she says, eyes going distant. Her fingers fold and unfold the bill in her hands over and over. “He basically handed the shop over to me, and I couldn’t tell him I got into-”

She cuts herself off, swallowing once. “He doesn’t try anymore, and I can’t even convince him to _try_ to try. I think I saw that clearly tonight.”

A part of Soul that hasn’t felt anything in a long time begins to ache.

“Anyways,” she says with a quick shake of her head. “Thank you for helping, I really appreciate it.”

“You don’t need to thank me,” he says, pausing as he comes to rest in front of the register. He wishes he could reach out to hold her hand like she’s done for him before. “And I think,” he continues slowly, “if you decide to go down the path you want, it’s not a selfish thing. People can only carry other people for so long.”

For a second, it looks like she’s going to argue with him, but then her shoulders drop and she nods. “Yeah.”

Slightly impressed he’s retained so much from his sessions with Stein, he turns back to survey the shop, which is mostly put back together, but still needs a lot of work. “So, where do you want to start next?”

“I can tackle the rest on my own,” Maka says. “Plus, I need to count up all the money and that’s going to take forever.”

“So tell me-”

“I also just need to be alone for a while,” she interrupts, an apologetic look on her face. “I hope that doesn’t sound mean, but tonight’s just been a lot.”

“And you need to not be a person for a while,” he says, ignoring the sting in his chest. “I get it.”

“Exactly,” she says, a ghost of a smile appearing on her face. She looks down, then glances back up at him. “But you can come by tomorrow, if you want. I can even give you a ride to the party in the mines.”

Her eyes widen, and she adds, “If you still want to go, that is. I know-”

“I’d love to go,” he breaks in.

“Oh.” She blinks. “Okay, good.”

“Yeah, good,” he echoes. They both stand there for a minute, and then he comes back to his senses. “Anyways, I’ll see you later.”

“Tomorrow,” she says. Her face is suddenly pink, like she’s winded, though it’s been at least twenty minutes since they finished moving the shelves.

“Yeah, tomorrow,” he agrees, heading for the door before he can embarrass himself any further.

At the door, Maka calls, “Bye!” and he looks back to give her a final wave before exiting the shop.

Being in a good mood with nothing bad underlying it feels foreign to Soul. It chafes at him, and there’s a part of him that looks for something to ruin his mood, but he cheerfully shoves it away as he heads down Market Street.

The festival ended about an hour ago, and it’s incredible how quickly the people and the cars lining the street have drained out, leaving it deserted, aside from himself and a few other people walking on the other side of the road. The shops, once brightly lit, have all gone out like candles. Even the lantern lights illuminating the street don’t do much to make it feel less lonely.

Briefly, he considers going to see Black Star and Kid, but he decides to text Black Star instead.

_Soul: how did forrest gump go?_

_Black Star: total success dude!!! the store was packed :D_

_Black Star: how about u??? how did it go with maka?_

_Soul: well i had to put on the play with her bc her dad ducked out but i think it went well_

_Black Star: aw man that sucks for maka :( she told me spirit’s been difficult to deal with_

_Black Star: but its good that you were there for her!!! im glad everything turned out okay!_

_Soul: im just happy i didnt fuck anything up_

_Soul: i also helped her clean up afterwards_

_Black Star: ooooooooooooooh did anything else happen? ;)_

_Soul: 1) never ooooooooooh at me again and 2) shut up_

_Soul: she invited me to the party tomorrow_

_Black Star: !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!_

_Soul: exactly_

_Soul: anyways how are things with Kid? are you home yet?_

_Black Star: better i think_

_Black Star: he’s talking more at least so i’ll probably make him some hot chocolate before we go to bed and cuddle w him on the couch for a while_

_Black Star: he likes it when im the big spoon_

_Soul: thats very sweet and thoughtful you’re a good boyfriend_

_Black Star: i try and i succeed_

_Black Star: im probably going to be heading out soon so i’ll talk to you later dude_

_Black Star: and dont forget we got band practice tomorrow!!_

_Soul: how could I forget_

_Soul: night dude_

Stowing away his phone, Soul takes his time getting to his bike, especially since Wes is gone for the weekend and his parents won’t be home until tomorrow. There’s a light mist wafting from the sky as he continues down Market Street, but unlike times before, he doesn’t flinch at the rain.

There’s someone smoking on the opposite corner of the streetlight where Soul put his bike, slowly pacing back and forth. His face isn’t familiar to him as he reaches the streetlight, and he figures the man is either someone from a neighboring town or someone who moved in after he left.

He spins in the combination to the lock, but it doesn’t snap open when he tugs on it. Swearing under his breath, he spins the dial rapidly to clear it, and happens to glance up at the exact moment the shadowy figure from the mausoleum comes up behind the smoking man and slams something heavy into his head, grabbing him from under his shoulders as the man sags backwards.

“Hey!” He isn’t aware that he yelled until the figure looks up at him, gaze drilling into Soul, even though he can’t see their eyes. They take a step towards him, but then they glance up the street, where a couple of people have paused, too far to see what’s going on, but attention drawn by Soul’s yell.

The figure looks back at Soul for a second, and then, hauling the man over their shoulder, they turn, breaking into a run.

A fraction of a second passes before Soul plunges after the figure, slipping on the sidewalk as he sprints across the street. His arms windmill wildly, though he rapidly regains his balance, pushing himself to go faster as the figure escapes further and further into the distance.

He keeps his eyes locked on the shadow and the man, who is unconscious or worse, as they reach the end of the block. Fighting the stitch in his side, Soul sucks in breath after breath while begging his feet to move faster. There’s only a few more blocks until the figure reaches the chain link fence that goes around the whole of Market Street, and then-

He doesn’t know then, but he still continues to chase after the figure.

A victorious roar rises in his ears as the fence sharpens into view, although the figure doesn’t slow.

They’re less than a few yards from the fence now, and he expects to see the figure come to a halt, but instead they keep running-

And then, they’re beyond the fence somehow; without climbing it, without doing anything but running, they’re beyond the fence.

Soul grinds to a halt in front of the fence, doubling over as his body refuses to move any further, gasping for air.

But even when he regains his breath, his hands are still shaking.

* * *

_Soul: are you guys awake?_

_Kid: I was trying not to be._

_Black Star: hard same_

_Maka: what happened?_

_Soul: i need help_

_Soul: something happened somethings been happening and i cant explain it or ignore it anymore and_

_Soul: i need your help_

_Black Star: meet us at our apartment we can talk there_

* * *

Maka opens the door when Soul arrives at the apartment. An odd, surreal feeling had taken over his body as he made his way to the apartments, but it flees as she looks at him, leaving a jittery anxiety in its stead.

She lets him in wordlessly, following him to the living room, where Black Star and Kid are waiting on the couch. They look like he just interrupted them in the middle of a conversation, and he tries to keep his mind from jumping to conclusions as they fall silent.

“Okay.” He jumps slightly at Maka’s voice as she enters the living room. There’s a furrow in her brow as she perches on the arm rest of the couch. “What do you want to tell us?”

He feels like he’s standing in front of a jury as he paces in front of the TV and tries to compose his thoughts. Shaking off the sensation, he comes to a stop, opening his mouth.

Everything comes out: from the train station to the mausoleum and the dream of the Sea Goat and finally to the forest yesterday and what happened just now. He speaks until his voice is hoarse, and beyond that. When he’s finished, he feels completely empty, though he doesn’t know if that’s a good or bad thing as he looks at his friends’ faces.

There’s a long silence. Kid is the first to speak. “So you’re saying something’s been calling to you,” he says in a careful tone. “And you think it’s connected to this figure you’ve been seeing.”

“That you think might also be a ghost,” finishes Black Star, coming out of the deep thought he was in. “Who just kidnapped or murdered someone.”

“That about sums it up.” They clearly think he’s lost touch with reality, and are trying to be nice about it. He forces himself not to look at Maka, who hasn’t moved or said a word since he began talking.

Black Star starts to talk again, but something in Soul snaps and he cuts him off. “Look, I’m not asking you to believe me,” he says, throwing his hands in the air. “I wouldn’t believe me.”

Pausing, he goes over his words for once, although it’s still harder than he’ll ever admit to speak. “I’m asking you to help me prove to myself that I haven’t gone crazy. He adds, “Again.”

For another minute, it’s dead quiet in the apartment.

And then, Maka gets to her feet. There’s no judgement in her eyes, but something else he doesn’t quite recognize.

“What do you need?” she asks.


	15. May Your Feet Serve You Well

_Lesson 15: The universe doesn’t care, but there are people who do._

* * *

Soul sleeps in fits and starts, dreams of the blackest night interspersed with dreams of talking cats, glowing forests, and shadows that move through walls with ease. He remembers none of them any of the times he wakes, although the unearthly voice that weaves itself through every dream stays with him. When he wakes up for the seventh time and sees that early morning light has replaced the night sky, he rubs his face roughly in an effort to stay awake for good.

Once the pull of sleep has receded enough for him to think somewhat lucidly, he drops his hands to his sides and glances around without moving his head. He’s slightly surprised to find himself sprawled out on the reclining chair in Kid and Black Star’s living room, before he remembers that Black Star convinced him and Maka to spend the night in the apartment.

Blindly, he searches for his phone, finding it stuck between the cushion of the seat. He scrolls through his texts, finding the message he apparently sent to his parents telling them he would be staying the night at Black Star’s, although he doesn’t even remember typing it.

His mother had texted him back almost immediately, though he hadn’t responded, which he does now.

_[12:32 am] Mom: Tell Black Star and Kid that I say hello!_

_[12:34 am] Dad: And please try to be quiet when you come in. Your mother and I are going to be sleeping all day after the shift we’re having._

_[7:49 am] Soul: i will and i probably wont be home till late so you dont have to worry_

_[7:50 am] Soul: sleep well_

Neither his mother nor father reply, which isn’t unexpected; putting his phone back in his hoodie pocket, Soul sits up, the muscles in his arms and legs protesting with a dull, but pervasive, ache from all of the physical exertion he’s forced them through in the last week. There’s also the distinct stiff exhaustion that comes right before a cold running through his body.

He looks to the couch where Maka had slept for the night, only to find it empty, the pillows she used neatly arranged while her blanket sits folded on an armrest. Neither Black Star nor Kid appear to be up, and the apartment is heavy with a brittle, expectant kind of silence that unsettles Soul. It’s like something is waiting for him, and as soon as the thought crosses his mind, he does his best to not listen to the silence, in case he catches the voice coming from the mines within it.

“Hey.” He jumps, and Black Star lifts his hands up from where he’s appeared on the side of his chair. “Sorry, I thought you heard me.”

“It’s fine.” Soul tries not to sound annoyed by the overly delicate tone Black Star takes with him. “Where’s Maka?”

His tone now become evasive. “She went out.”

“I can see that.”

Black Star sighs after a moment. “She went down the police station to ask Marie if anyone was reported missing last night.”

“Oh.” He blinks. “That’s a good idea.”

The worried expression on Black Star’s face clears. “You think so?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?” Rising, Soul stretches, trying to banish some of the soreness in his muscles.

“I don’t know, I just-” he pauses, biting his lip. “We didn’t want to make it seem like we were doubting you, you know?” he asks. “Kid and I were talking after you went to bed.”

He raises an eyebrow when Black Star doesn’t go on. “And?”

“And if you say you saw someone get kidnapped or murdered, and there’s been this weird shadow dude following you around, we believe you dude,” he says, voice rising like it does when Black Star gets passionate about something. He takes a deep breath and adds, “I don’t know how that voice from your dreams figures in but shit’s been weirder. We’ve all-”

The rest of his words are cut off by the crushing hug Soul envelopes him in, and after a moment, Black Star reciprocates.

“None of us ever thought you were crazy, dude,” he mumbles into Soul’s shoulder. “Even Maka, back when she was super ticked at you. We just thought you were-”

“An asshole.”

Black Star pulls back as he lets him go, grinning. “You said it, not me.”

There’s a strange stinging sensation at the back of Soul’s throat as he rolls his eyes. “Right.”

“Come on.” Black Star gestures to the kitchen with his head. “Maka should be back soon, and Kid’s finishing getting ready so he’ll be out in a few minutes.”

He takes a seat at the dining table while Black Star produces a coffee machine from one of the cabinets next to the stove. Soon, the sharp scent of coffee fills the kitchen, and Black Star places in front of Soul a mug of coffee while he takes a seat next to him.

Soul, who is very much not a coffee person, takes a long drink of the coffee, which is such a dark shade of brown that it’s nearly black, attempting to keep a straight face as he swallows. Although he feels significantly better after their conversation, there is still an anxious edge in the air, the quiet tension before _something_ happens, and he needs to be fully alert to handle whatever the _something_ is.

Kid shuffles in shortly after he takes another drink of his coffee, greeting Soul with a sleepy wave. As he takes a seat on the opposite side of Black Star, Soul notices the beginnings of a white stripe starting to show in Kid’s hair, which is odd since Kid has always taken careful measures to keep the white in his hair dyed black since the stripes first started showing up in high school. It was genetic, Kid answered, when Soul asked about it during one of the rare moments they were alone together. Soul, who was no stranger to how thoroughly genetics could screw over a person, had never commented on it again.

“I’m sure Black Star has already told you about what we discussed last night,” says Kid, pulling Soul out of his thoughts. He picks up the mug sitting at his table mat and takes a sip before adding on, “Personally, I think there’s a logical explanation behind the voice and what you saw last night, but I don’t doubt what you’ve seen or experienced, and I’d like to help anyway I can to get to the truth.”

It’s a big show of support from Kid, who Soul always assumed had tolerated him at best, and he gives him a grateful nod. “Thank you.”

“How sweet,” Black Star interjects, moving his hand closer to Kid’s. “My favorite boys bonding.”

Kid, however, does not reach out to close the space between them like he normally would, and Black Star moves his hand away after a moment.

It’s awkward, but fortunately a knock on the door keeps Soul from having to fill the silence, and he jumps up from his chair. “I’ll get it.”

Maka’s put her hair up in her pigtails again, he notices as he opens the door and she steps inside. She also went home to change apparently, her costume from last night replaced with a black skirt and tights, red shirt, and her leather jacket. “Hey.”

“How did you sleep?” she asks, turning to face him as he closes the door. “I heard you moving around a lot.”

He cringes. “Did I wake you?”

“If I slept through my parents’ fights, I can sleep through everything,” she says, waving a hand. “So?”

“Well, I slept, I guess,” he answers, trailing her to the kitchen. “But if you’re asking if I rested, I’d have to give that a hard no.”

“I’d say that’s how we all feel right now,” Kid says as they take a seat at the table. He gestures to the bag Maka places on the table. “What’s that?”

“I’ll explain in a minute.” She picks up her cup, taking a swig of coffee, and glances around the table as she sets it back down. “I spoke to Marie,” she says after swallowing. “She says that no one was reported missing, injured, or otherwise last night.”

A needle of disappointment stabs through Soul, but the way that Maka speaks doesn’t appear to be dismissing what he saw.

“Of course, the person who got taken could have been someone from another town or even the city,” she continues. “So it could be anywhere from a few days to weeks before their disappearance is linked to Shibunsen Springs.”

“Forever, if they got taken by a ghost,” says Black Star.

“Speaking of that, I was thinking about what you told us last night.” Maka looks at Soul as she opens her bag. “And I was trying to figure out the connection between yesterday, the voice, and the figure,” she says, pulling out a thick book from the depths of her bag. “And I think I have a few leads.”

Black Star eyes the book with a suspicious look. “When did you have time to drop by the library?”

“This isn’t from the library, it’s from the historical society by the church,” corrects Maka. “And I already had the book at home.”

Kid frowns. “I thought the historical society didn’t allow anyone to take their books off the premises.”

A faint tinge of pink appears rises in Maka’s face. “They don’t,” she says shortly, before moving on. “Anyways, I figured that since the figure has been showing up mostly in places or events significant to Shibunsen Springs, and the fact that Soul heard the voice coming from the mines, that must mean it’s a ghost who has a history with the town.” Her fingers drum against the cover of the book. “The thing I can’t figure out is why anyone from the town’s past would want to hurt or kidnap people.”

Soul knows that Maka always attacked problems with a determined, head-on attitude, but he’s still taken aback by how methodical her reasoning is, and how quickly she’s adapted to the situation.

“I wish we had gone to college together,” he says, breaking the silence. “Maybe then I would have been motivated to pass my classes.”

The blush on her face deepens. “It’s nothing that no one else could have come up with.”

“Yeah, but you’re the only one who can do it that fast.”

“So, what’s the next step?” interrupts Black Star.

Maka blinks, before lifting the book higher. “This is a compendium of historical places in Shibunsen Springs, put together by Darnel Glace shortly before he was killed,” she says. The cover of the book appears to be made out of leather, the words etched onto it worn away by the wear and tear of time. “Obviously, we can’t make it to all the locations he mentioned in a single day, but I’ve found a few promising places to start.”

Her words are met with confusion by Soul and Black Star, although a spark of recognition entered Kid’s eyes when she mentioned Darnel Glace.

“Back up a second,” Black Star says, frowning. “Why should we care about a travel guide written by a random dude?”

“Darnel Glace was the leader of the first mining strikes that took place in the late nineteenth century,” Kid answers. “Those strikes were also the first significant thing to happen to Shibunsen Spring since its founding.”

“Exactly,” says Maka, excitement growing in her voice. “Since the voice is coming from the mines, it’s likely that the ghost is tied to that strike or one of the later strikes.”

“We’re going to go to all the places over a century old in Shibunsen Springs and hope the ghost shows up?” asks Soul in a skeptical voice. He glances at his coffee, wishing he had drunk more of it before it went cold.

She gives him a look. “Not exactly that, but we might find some clues as to who the ghost is if we explore around. If we find out their identity, maybe we can figure out what they want, and then they’ll move on or whatever.”

Another silence follows her words, and then Black Star speaks. “Can we call ourselves the Ghostbusters?”

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, Soul meets Maka and Black Star outside while Kid gets the car from the apartment garage. She’s squinting at the book, snapping it closed when he joins them.

“Once we get whatever information we can from the library, we can decide where to head from there,” she tells him and Black Star, meeting Soul’s eyes. “The historical society and the graveyard seem like fairly good choices, though.”

Her words become stiff when she mentions the graveyard, and Soul is about to say that they can skip it when Black Star talks. “I don’t know what good reading dusty books that are falling apart is going to do,” he grumbles. He crosses his arms, eyes flicking to Kid, who has remained as distant as he was in the apartment.

“Not books,” Maka says with a trace of impatience. “The library has a microfiche archive of all the issues of the Shibunsen Tribune since it opened in 1859.”

“So?” asks Black Star irritably.

She aims a glare at him. “Don’t tell me you can’t put two and two together.”

Soul opens his mouth to intervene before they can argue any further, but Kid shows up at that moment, bringing the car to a stop right next to them. Rolling down the window, he looks at the three. “Ready?”

Black Star’s mouth snaps shut as he swallows back the retort he was going to lob at Maka. “Yeah.”

Kid says nothing as the three enter the car, Black Star all but stomping his way to the front passenger seat, though Soul sees the tiny frown that tugs at his mouth when Black Star slides into his seat and closes the door with slightly too much force.

The music from the radio is fills the air in the car as Kid drives to the library. Maka glances at Soul when they’re close to the library. “How are you holding up?”

He gives a small shrug, even though the jittery feeling from last night has returned in full force since they left the apartment. “Fine enough, I guess.”

“Are you sure?” she asks in a low voice. “This has to be a lot and I-”

“I know how I’m feeling, and I’m fine,” he says, not sure if it’s the resurgence of his nerves, his exhaustion, Black Star’s mood darkening his own, or a combination of the three that makes him snappy. He meets her gaze, trying to pull himself out of it. “But thank you for asking.”

“Of course,” she says softly, though she doesn’t talk to him until after they get to the library.

When they arrive at the library, Soul is unsurprised to see they’re the only car in the parking lot, other than the librarian’s ancient sedan. The librarian doesn’t even appear to want to be there herself, blinking blearily when Maka asks for the key to the microfiche archive in the basement.

“No food or water near the microfiche,” she tells Maka in an exhausted half-whisper as she hands her the key. Her eyes trail to Soul and Black Star, who have both been kicked out of the library more times than they can count. “And make sure someone responsible is handling the microfiche and the camera.”

Their footsteps echo against the walls as they descend the stairs leading to the basement, the ceiling hanging low over their heads. The long room is divided in half by a hallway, sectioning off the space into three rooms. On their right is the janitor’s supply room, while on the left is a filing closet for the librarian.

“It’s here,” Maka says, walking down the hallway to the last room in the basement. She slots the key into the lock, the door clicking as it swings open, and holds the door open for them as the other three file in.

The microfiche room is dimly lit, and larger than Soul expected. In the middle, there’s a table with three boxy microfiche readers on it, evenly spaced on its surface. Lining the room are dozens of filing cabinets, different years scrawled in messy handwriting across the labels on the drawers.

Soul stares at the cabinets, opening the drawer closest to him and cringing when he sees how full it is. “How are we going to get through this in one day?”

Maka is stymied for a moment. “Well, the first strikes happened in the 1870’s so we can probably disregard anything before that.”

“That only takes off eleven years, though,” says Black Star, peering into the drawer Soul opened.

Kid speaks up. “I think we should just focus on the times when there was a strike going on, since that’s what stands out the most in the town’s history.” He moves across the room, looking at the cabinet labels until he finds what he’s looking for. “So that would be the entire 1870’s and the 1880’s,” he points to the cabinet, “as well as the strike in 1931 and 1942.”

“That’s twenty two years.” Soul hesitates before he adds, “We should also look at more recent times, to see if the newspaper ever reported on anything...supernatural.”

Luckily, no one gives him a strange look at the suggestion. Black Star shrugs. “It’s your investigation, dude.”

He nods, and they get to work. Maka takes the camera on one side of the table and a box full of microfiche with articles from the 1870’s, while Black Star and Kid take the camera in the middle, focusing on the strikes during the 1880’s, 1930’s, and 1940’s. 

Soul pulls boxes of microfiche dating from last year to a decade ago. It takes him a while to figure out how to work the microfiche, even after the tutorial Maka gives him, but eventually he gets the hang of it. He examines the headlines of the main section of the Shibunsen Tribune and the lifestyle section of the paper, where residents write in and share their experiences.

He’s gone through roughly a dozen stories of people complaining about their neighbors when he finally finds something, although he waits until he finds two more similar stories to mention it.

“Listen to this,” he says aloud, looking up to see if the others are paying attention. “Ghostly rumors haunt historical society.” He scans the article. “Apparently the janitor quit because he saw someone walking around trying doors during the night shift.”

“That’s not strange,” comments Kid.

“No, but what is strange is that every time he went to go investigate, there was no one there,” Soul rejoins. “He quit because of it.”

Black Star’s tone is skeptical. “It could have been just some really good pranksters being assholes.”

He is undaunted, however. “What about this then?” He takes out the article from the microfiche camera, and replaces it with another. “Spectral happenings at Shibunsen Jump.” Pointing to the article, he says, “This couple says they saw a figure walk off the cliff at the jump and walk on air before disappearing. When the forestry services investigated the next day, they found no sign of a body at the base of the cliff.”

“Okay, that is weirder,” admits Maka, rising from her spot at her camera to read the article more closely. “But they still could have been drunk or something.”

“And then there’s this.” Grabbing the last article he found, he puts it underneath the microfiche reader. “Local ghost ‘Little Joe’ back at it again.”

Black Star is the closest to the projector. “‘Little Joe’, reportedly the ghost of Joe Shade, a miner who died mysteriously decades ago is back at it again. Multiple residents have reported seeing the deceased miner rising from his grave in the back section of Shibunsen Cemetery, and walking around the graveyard, unnerving visitors and cemetery staff alike.”

It’s quiet when he finishes.

“When was that article written?” Maka asks finally.

Soul squints at the tiny font of the microfiche. “Three years ago.”

“The jump isn’t that far from the historical society,” Kid says with a thoughtful look in his eye. “And the cemetery is right by the society.”

“But what would a dead miner have against the town?” asks Black Star.

“Maybe he died in a mining accident,” Maka suggests. “The conditions of the mines always went back to the way they were before the miners decided to strike. He could have a bone to pick with the town because of that.”

“It’s still a long jump from scaring people to kidnap and murder, though.” In his head, Soul sees the way the figure slammed whatever they were holding into the man’s head.

Maka looks from the projector to the others. “I think it’s time to investigate.”

* * *

“Well, this sucks,” says Black Star.

“It’s unfortunate,” Kid agrees as they sit in the empty parking lot of Shibunsen Cemetery, staring at the closed sign on the gate leading into the graveyard, and the chain and lock underneath the sign. “I forgot they close the graveyard the day after HarvFest after what happened after six years ago.”

Maka scoffs. “Like it’s that hard to hop a fence.”

Her tone is offhand, but Soul can see the tension in her face as she gazes at the cemetery. Unless something happened in the time he was gone, this is the first time she’s been to the cemetery since her mother’s funeral.

“But Marie is probably going to be coming around here soon enough.” Black Star glances at Soul, clearly thinking about how she nearly caught them yesterday. “So we need to move fast and someone needs to stay with the car.”

“I have a cleanest record out of all of us,” says Kid. “I’ll go while you guys stay in the car.”

“Have you never seen a horror movie?” Black Star exclaims. “Something bad always happens to the person who goes away from the group.”

“I’ll go with him.” Maka unbuckles her seat belt. The tightness in her expression intensifies, but her voice is determined. “The historical society is only about a mile from here. While Kid and I are in the cemetery, you two can go there.”

Soul speaks quickly before she can get out of the car. “No, I can go with Kid,” he says. “I’ve been in the graveyard a million times. We’ll be able to find Joe’s grave in no time.”

“Yes, and you’re also the one Marie won’t let off with a slap on the wrist,” Maka replies with a roll of her eyes.

“That just means I can’t get caught.” When it looks like she’s going to argue, Soul reaches out before he can think better of it. Maka’s hand isn’t soft, with all of the time she’s put in at the Scythe’n’Saw, but it’s warm, and it feels something like home as he rolls his thumb across her palm.

Whatever she was about to say dies on her lips as she looks at him. “You said you never wanted to go in there again,” he says quietly. “Let me go.”

“All right,” she answers just as quietly after a moment. Her hand lingers in his for a beat, and then she opens the car door. “Move over, Star,” she calls as she gets out of the car.

“We’ll be back in less than an hour,” Black Star says from the driver’s seat once both Soul and Kid are out of the car. “You should be out long before then.”

Soul gives them a salute. “Roger that.”

Black Star jabs a finger at the two as he rolls up the window. “Don’t get caught.”

“Hang on!” Maka calls Soul over with a wave of her hand, and she speaks low when he bends to talk to her eye-to-eye. “Could you visit her for me?” She fiddles with her bag instead of looking at him. “I don’t want her to think I’m avoiding her.”

“I will.” He could say more, but he knows this will comfort her most.

“Great.” A weight seems to lift from her face. “Thank you.”

He steps back, watching as the car backs out of its parking. There’s a brief silence between him and Kid as the car drives out of sight.

“We should get going,” says Kid once they can no longer see the car. “We don’t have a lot of time.”

“Right.” Soul turns to see Kid approaching the gate, and then he stops him, eyes going wide. “What are you doing?”

Kid gestures to the gate. “Climbing the fence.”

“Yes, but not in front of the church,” he hisses, throwing a glance to the building on Church Hill, where it would be all too easy for a visitor or Father Justin to spot them. “Follow me.”

The stand of trees surrounding the far end of the cemetery fence takes a while to get to, but it’s worth not getting caught before they can even get into the graveyard.

Kid struggles a bit with climbing the fence, and Soul offers him a hand when his foot gets stuck in a gap between the chain links when they’re at the top. “Thanks,” he huffs, swinging a leg over the top of the fence and pushing his hair out of his eyes. “I don’t know how I would have climbed this alone.”

“Then why did you volunteer to go alone?” Soul asks as they descend the inside part of the fence. He jumps down the last few feet, landing on his feet.

“I also don’t know the answer to that,” Kid answers as he clumsily disentangles himself from the fence once he reaches the bottom. “But Black Star wouldn’t have let me go alone so the point is moot.”

“Fair enough.”

They pause to catch their breath, and then Kid points to a crooked tree in the distance. “I’ve explored the cemetery a couple times before,” he says. “The old section of the graveyard starts there.”

“That’s what I remember.” Soul swallows, glancing at Kid before he talks. “Before we head over there, there’s someone I have to visit?”

Kid’s expression is unsurprised. “Your grandmother?”

His words hit Soul like a slap to the face. “No, not her,” he says quickly. He hastens to correct himself. “I mean, maybe one day, but not today.”

A curious look crosses Kid’s face. “Then who?”

He hesitates for a second. “Maka’s mom.”

“Ah.” Understanding blooms on Kid’s face. “Is that what she asked you to do?”

“Yup.” He scans the landscape for the pine tree that marks the area where Kami is buried. “She can’t bring herself to visit, but I think she wants to know that she’s okay.”

“I can empathize with that last part,” Kid says. “Except for me, they’re still alive.”

His comment takes Soul aback. Kid is always reticent when it comes to how he feels, but he leaves no room for Soul to reply.

“I should probably visit my parents, it’s been a while.” Kid glances at Soul. With the gloom of the overcast day, his eyes almost seem to glow. He points to the crooked tree. “Want to meet there in ten minutes?”

He nods, and without another word, they go in opposite directions.

It doesn’t take Soul long to reach the pine tree. After that, it’s a matter of trekking up the rows until he finds the black headstone marking Kami’s grave.

The headstone is simply decorated, a spray of roses etched underneath the words “Dearly Missed”, written in curly letters. Under the roses is Kami’s name and the date of her birth and death.

There are few leaves on Kami’s headstone, and he crouches down to clear them off. “She misses you,” he says as he brushes away the last of the leaves. It’s awkward to talk to the air, to know that the person he’s addressing is never going to respond to him, but he swallows back his feelings because this isn’t for him. “She doesn’t want you to think she doesn’t care.”

His knees start to ache, and he rises. “It’s hard for her to accept that you’re gone.

“It would have been better if you were here,” he says quietly. “But she’s doing okay.”

He doesn’t know what else to say after that, so he stands at the grave for a few more minutes in silence, before turning around and heading for the old section of the cemetery.

Kid is waiting for him by the crooked tree, giving him a quiet nod as they head down the first row. Soul expects to see sadness or even anger on Kid’s face, given Black Star’s reaction to Kid’s family, but there’s nothing on Kid’s face except sober reservation.

A hill rises in front of them once they reach the end of the fifth row, and they start to climb. Soul tries to keep how heavily he’s breathing to himself, but the exhaustion that’s been weighing on him all day makes it impossible.

When they reach the top, Kid speaks. “Why don’t we sit down for a few minutes?”

Too tired to protest, he flops down on the grass, feeling Kid sit next to him. It’s quiet for a minute, and then his curiosity gets the better of him.

“Are you okay?” he asks. He assumes this is what Black Star meant when he said Kid was visiting his family. “After visiting your parents?”

“I don’t really feel too much one way or the other when I visit them,” Kid answers with a shrug. “They died in an accident when I was three.”

“Oh,” he says awkwardly. He hadn’t known that about Kid, but then again, Soul didn’t know much about him in general. “Do you remember them?”

“Not really.” He shakes his head. “All I remember from my childhood is my brother. He became my guardian when my parents died.”

“He must have been a good guardian then,” he guesses.

Kid shakes his head again. “The opposite.”

“Oh,” Soul says again. “Sorry.”

“Not your fault.” 

Kid is quiet for a long time, and Soul is about to suggest they keep moving, pretending the conversation never happened, when he speaks again.

“Do you know why I don’t believe there’s actually a ghost following you around?” he asks, plucking out a blade of grass from next to him. “Or why I don’t believe in the paranormal in general?”

Soul is thrown by the question. “Because it doesn’t adhere to the principles of science?”

“When my brother would lock me in the basement, sometimes he would leave me in there for a couple of days,” says Kid. “He never left any food or water.” There’s a flat, unaffected expression on his face as he speaks, staring at the blade of grass between his fingers. “When that happened, I used to try to signal my neighbors with telepathy while I sat there in the dark, hoping they would hear my thoughts, because, to me, they were louder than a fire alarm. Other times, I used to try to unlock the door with my mind.

“None of it ever worked.” He holds the blade of grass flat in his palm, and the wind picks it up instantly, sweeping it up into the sky. “When the white started showing up in my hair, I stopped believing in anything.”

“Your brother is the biggest asshole I’ve ever heard of.” Soul blurts the first thing that comes to mind without thinking, and he cringes inwardly. “Sorry, I probably shouldn’t have said that.”

But Kid doesn’t appear upset. “There’s no point in denying the truth,” he says. “Asura _is_ an asshole.”

“Why do you visit him then?” he asks. “If he treated you like that?”

“Force of habit,” he answers, although the way he phrases his words makes it come out like a question, and then he amends himself. “I used to rationalize it by telling myself that because it was never anything physical, I would be silly to refuse to visit. I’ve since realized you don’t need to lay your hands on someone to break them, and now I don’t know why.

“Maybe it’s because I’m all he has left.” Kid sounds more like he’s talking to himself than to Soul. “I keep telling myself every time I visit him that it’ll be the last time,” he says. “And one day, it will be.”

He blinks, coming out of the place he had gone to, the flat expression on his face fading away. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have put that all on you,” he says. “I guess it’s easier to talk about this to someone I don’t really know, than someone who knows me too well.” After a half-second, he adds, “No offense.”

“None taken,” Soul says. “I like listening to people yelling about assholes.”

Kid frowns. “But I wasn’t yelling.”

“For you, that was yelling,” Soul says. “However, _I_ am very good at cursing people out, so if you ever want to hear someone cursing out your brother with some choice swears, I’m your man.”

“I’m good for right now, but I’ll be sure to keep your offer in mind.” Kid isn’t smiling exactly, but there is less of a weight in his expression.

“Do you believe in anything now?” he asks, before Kid closes the subject. He’s not sure why he’s abruptly anxious. “Or do you-”

He breaks off.

“Has Black Star ever told you how we met?” asks Kid.

“Yeah, he was late to class and he didn’t see you when he was rounding a corner, and he ran into you.”

“Knocked us both flat to the ground and knocked _him_ unconscious for a solid minute,” Kid says with a slight smile. “When he ran into me, it was like a falling star crashing into the earth.” He pauses. “It made me wake up, made me realize I was alive and I wanted to act like it.

“I believe in connections,” he continues. “Whether it’s the ones we make in the sky, or the ones we make with the people we love. The universe may not care about me, but there are people that do, and it balances everything out, and that’s enough for me to be okay with living.”

“That is deep,” Soul says after a moment. “I think I’d still be going to church if you were the preacher.”

“Religion isn’t quite for me,” Kid answers. “But I might become a philosophy professor one day.”

“Dr. Kid.” Soul rises, holding out a hand on instinct. “It has a certain ring to it.”

“It’s Kiaran, actually,” he replies, taking his hand. “But I prefer Kid.”

* * *

The grave of Joe Shade is located four rows past the hill’s peak, three graves in from the gravel path.

Kid squints at the grave. “It isn’t very impressive.”

“It’s not like he has somebody to take care of his headstone,” Soul says, though he has to admit he’s slightly let down by the ordinariness of Joe’s grave. The headstone is a dingy white color, completely unmarked except for Joe’s name written in plain block letters across the top. There isn’t even a birth or death date, though there are plenty of tracks around the grave, most likely from people who came to visit the grave out of curiosity like him and Kid.

They stare at the grave for a moment.

“What are we supposed to be looking for?” he asks.

“Well, he doesn’t look like he’s been disturbed.” Kid peers at the yellowing grass at the edge of the grave.

“Or that he’s been the disturbing others.” He tries to ignore the knot of disappointment and tension growing in his stomach. Certainty had replaced the jittery feeling when he found the articles in the library, but now that he sees the relatively undisturbed ground covering Joe’s grave, the anxiety that had receded rises again.

It makes him want to smash something, but he fights the urge down, instead circling the grave to see if he spots anything Kid missed.

“We should have brought a ouija board,” Kid says, crouching down by the headstone to examine it better. “That way, we could have asked him what he wants.”

“I thought you didn’t believe in ghosts.”

“Yes,” he answers. “But I’m trying to humor you.”

Soul stops at the foot of the grave-there is a prickling sensation in his hands, spreading to the rest of his body and screaming for release. He stares at the grave. “I’ve got a better idea.”

“Really?” Kid says. “What is it?”

“This.” Soul steps onto the center of the grave, raising his foot as high as he can manage, and bringing it down. “Hey Joe,” he yells, stomping on the grave again, “why are you following me?”

“That is not a better idea,” Kid exclaims, attempting to grab him without stepping on the grave. “Get off of the grave!”

“If it bothers Joe so much, he can come out and stop me,” Soul replies, punctuating every word with another stomp. Glaring at the grave, he asks, “Why are you haunting Shibunsen Springs?”

The ground gives way underneath him, and he lets out a cry as his foot goes straight through the grave, a sickening crack coming from the grave as dust fills the air.

Kid’s voice is horrified as the dust clears. “What did you do?”

“Can I plead the fifth?” Soul tries to wrench his foot free, before coming to a very unfortunate conclusion.

“Um.” He pulls his foot a little more gingerly, trying not to panic when it refuses to come loose.

“Can we just go already?” Kid is anxiously looking around them. “We’ve made enough noise to wake the dead.”

He closes his eyes, attempting to not think about what is lying just underneath his foot. “I would love to do that, but my foot is stuck.”

“So, pull it loose!” Kid sounds a little like Black Star.

“My foot is stuck in Joe’s coffin.” Soul twists his head around to find Kid, mostly to distract himself. “It went through the lid.”

He whirls around from where he was looking over the hilltop. “It did what?”

“Please just help me.” Soul sits awkwardly on the ground, trying to work his foot free.

Abruptly, he feels Kid’s arms loop under his shoulders, but pain shoots up Soul’s ankle when Kid attempts to haul him out of the grave. “Stop, it’s not working!”

Kid releases him, panting as he straightens. “Then, what do we do?”

Soul’s foot is pinned in an uncomfortable position, but he doesn’t move it in case it touches Joe’s body. “We need to make the hole bigger so I can pull my foot out.”

Realization dawns in Kid’s voice. “You mean-”

“Exactly.”

They glance at each other, and then they get to work at the same time.

Dirt wedges itself underneath Soul’s fingernails as he and Kid scoop out handfuls of soil from the place where his foot went into Joe’s coffin. They dig with a frenzied kind of focus, throwing the clumps of dirt behind them until the rotted wood of Joe’s coffin begins to show.

“There,” Kid says, pushing away the dirt from the coffin. He examines the hole. “I think I can work it free if I push from the other side of the lid.”

Shocks makes Soul’s eyes go wide. “But you’d have to open the coffin for that.”

“Or I could go flag down Marie for help when she comes to check on the cemetery.”

He grits his teeth. “Continue.”

Pushing himself up as much as he could, he braces himself as Kid moves to the other side and searches for the groove between lid and coffin.

However, when Kid opens the lid halfway and frees his foot, he can’t see anything. Morbid curiosity gets the better of him, and Soul stands, peering over the lid and into the coffin.

The coffin is empty.

“That can’t be possible,” he says aloud. “The grave wasn’t disturbed.”

“Someone could have stolen the bones,” answers Kid reasonably, though he is clearly shaken. “They could have replanted the plot with grass.”

Soul does his best not to sound frustrated, pacing away from the grave. “But that doesn’t mean-”

The rest of his sentence is cut short as his eyes travel up a dozen rows from where they stand.

“What is it?” asks Kid when he doesn’t continue, coming to a stop next to him.

Pointing to the distinct outline of someone standing behind a large headstone, Soul keeps his eyes on the figure, a black hat obscuring their face. “Do you see them?”

“Who-” Kid breaks off as he looks in the direction he’s pointing in. “Oh.”

The figure steps out from the headstone, and Kid grabs his arm. “Run.”

Soul leaps over the open grave as they sprint down the hill. Risking a glance behind him, he sees the figure is closer than he would have thought been possible. “Hurry up,” he rasps to Kid between breaths. “They’re right behind us.”

Letting out a groan, Kid pumps his legs even faster. They fly across the cemetery without taking care to be discreet, not stopping until they reach the chain link fence. Kid scrambles up the fence far faster than he did when they entered, jumping to the ground shortly before Soul does.

He doubles over, gasping for breath. “Are they still following us?”

Turning, Soul braces himself to see the figure scaling the fence.

But the figure is nowhere to be seen.


	16. And the Rest be Sent to Hell

_Lesson 16: A sense of humor is important, but not everything should be turned into a joke._

* * *

They order pizza from Tick Tock’s; in the twenty minutes it takes for the pizza to arrive at Black Star and Kid’s apartment, Soul scrubs his fingernails clean in the bathroom, and attempts to clean off the dirt smearing his sleeves and the pant leg that got caught in Joe’s coffin. There’s a dull pain in his ankle emanating from underneath, but he doesn’t care to check how badly he’s cut.

As he turns away from the sink, he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror-there’s a pallor in his face that reflects the exhaustion seeping through his body. It mixes badly with the jittery tension sitting in his stomach, making him feel like he’s standing on a great precipice, but instead of walking away from it, he’s walking towards the ledge.

It’s worse than how he was before he lost his mind three years ago. At least then, he hadn’t known he was walking off the cliff.

He jerks the bathroom door open before he can think any more, the scent of pizza hitting him as soon as he steps into the kitchen.

“There you are,” says Black Star thickly through a bite of pizza. “Come and sit.”

“Have you left any pizza at all?” Soul asks as he takes a seat between Kid and Maka, eyeing Black Star’s overflowing plate. He hadn’t realize how hungry he was until the pizza was in front of him, though his appetite is thoroughly demolished.

Even with the hunger, he’s only able to force down one slice, picking the toppings off of the other slice on his plate. He waits for someone to start the conversation as they eat, but no one speaks, more interested in eating than talking.

He tries not to sound annoyed when he asks, “Are we going to talk about we found out or not?”

“I think we were all just hungry.” Black Star takes a bite of his crust. “And it’s hard to talk about something as complicated as what we’re investigating on an empty stomach.”

“I don’t think it’s that complicated.” He’s not in the mood to be gracious.

“We know,” Maka says quickly, though she shoots a warning glance at Soul. “But it’s only been hours since you told us about everything, and it’s a lot to process.”

“I know.” His bad mood relents as suddenly as it appeared. He wants to shake himself until his head gets back in order. “I’m tired.”

“How could you not be when you slept in the same room as the snoring monster?” Black Star says, jerking a thumb in Maka’s direction. “I think I got like three hours of sleep, max.”

She glares at him, face flushing. “I do not snore.”

“Well, _you_ wouldn’t be aware of it, would you?”

“Perhaps now is the time to talk about what we discovered in the graveyard and historical society,” Kid interjects delicately. “I don’t think I can eat more anyways.”

“The society was a bust.” Black Star finishes off his crust, pushing back his plate. “No ghosts there, except for maybe me, because I swear I died of boredom in there.”

“It was not that boring,” retorts Maka. She pauses before admitting, “But there wasn’t much on Joe, except a mention in an exhibit on Shibunsen’s history. He died around the same time as the last mining strike.

“That explains why he would have something against the town, and why you’re hearing the voice from the mines,” she continues. “But it doesn’t give us anything more specific to go on.”

She looks at Soul and Kid. “What did you two find?”

“Well, we found the grave easily enough. It appeared to be undisturbed,” Kid replies, sparing a glance at Soul as he adds, “However, upon further investigation, we found that the coffin was empty.”

“You dug up an old dude’s corpse?” exclaims Black Star at the same time Maka firmly says, “I don’t want to know how you found that out.”

“To be fair, it was an accident,” Soul says, leveling a look at Kid. “Though it does prove that it is Joe behind everything.”

Kid frowns. “I think it’s a bit of a leap to say that.”

“And what about the thing that chased us right after we found out his grave was empty?” shoots back Soul. “That wasn’t a coincidence.”

An alarmed tone enters Black Star’s voice. “You were _chased_?”

“It was probably one of the groundskeepers,” Kid replies, shrugging away his concern. “They probably keep an eye on Joe’s grave because of all the foot traffic it gets.”

“That wasn’t what you were saying when you were sprinting across the cemetery.”

Maka interrupts. “That is definitely weird,” she admits. Her brows furrow. “But I don’t see how the pieces fit.”

There’s silence as they retreat into their own thoughts. Soul’s head starts to pound with the same intensity it did this morning. Even with everything they’ve learned, they’re no closer to figuring out why the figure, whether it’s the ghost of Joe Shade or something else, has been following him, or what they want, or who the voice that’s been calling him belongs to, although he’s been the only to ever actually hear it, so that could just mean-

He forces his mind away from that path. His thoughts are rambling, borderline erratic, and he can’t focus on any one thought for very long, except the fear that he’s losing his mind again, and everything else, too.

A wave of nausea sweeps through his stomach as the sick feeling he woke up with intensifies. There’s nothing more he wants to do than close his eyes, but he knows if he does that, his dreams won’t leave him alone.

When the phone goes off, they all jump. Maka reaches down to pick up her bag from the floor, where the ringing is coming from. “Sorry.”

She glances at the phone screen before answering. “Hello.”

Her face turns resigned, tinged with a forced kind of resolve, as she listens to the person on the other line. “I’m not at the shop today, but I could probably drop by tomorrow.”

This answer apparently doesn’t please the person, because there is another pause as the tinny hum of their voice on the phone grows louder.

Maka is clearly holding back a sigh as she interrupts. “Listen, I’ll head out there right now, but if it’s a big fix, I won’t be able to do much,” she says. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

The resigned look on her face is tinged with annoyance as she drops her phone back in her bag. “That was Tezca,” she says with a sigh. “Apparently, his boiler went out again.”

“Why can’t he just burn a few of his paintings?” asks Black Star, ignoring the poke Kid gives his shoulder. “He’s got plenty enough to keep warm.”

“Yes, I’m sure it would have gone over very well if I suggested that,” she says as she stands. “His joints are all messed up from the accident and the heat is the only thing that helps, according to him, so I have to go check it out.”

“Wait, you’re going?” Soul says, shock keeping him from thinking twice. “But we haven’t gotten to the bottom of anything.”

“We’ve made a lot of progress for one day,” she replies, pulling on her jacket. “We can revisit things later.”

Frowning, he opens his mouth to argue when Black Star speaks. “Don’t forget about the post-HarvFest party,” he says, pointing out to the living room window, where the sun is slowly beginning to make its descent. “It’s starting in less than two hours.”

“You can’t be serious,” blurts out Soul. He gets to his feet, gesturing to outside as he says, “We still have no idea if it’s Joe that’s haunting the town, or what he wants, or why he’s been following me!”

“I mean no offense by this,” Kid says after a brief silence, eyes unblinking as he looks at Soul and the rest. “But I think we all need a break from ghost hunting.”

“And a nap,” adds Black Star.

Soul immediately takes offense. “Well, you haven’t-”

“And I think you need a break too,” Maka says, grabbing his hand and tugging. “Come with me to the job. It’ll distract you, it’ll spare me from listening to him talk about himself, and then we can go to the party.”

Even in the midst of one of his biggest internal break-downs, he is not immune to the warmth of her touch, although it doesn’t comfort him nearly as much as he wished it would.

“Do I have a choice in this?” he asks, relenting only because he might actually go completely crazy if he has to stay in Black Star and Kid’s apartment and do nothing.

“Nope,” she answers, throwing a wave to Black Star and Kid as she leads them into the hallway and to the door. “We’ll see you at the party.”

“Have fun,” calls Black Star.

* * *

They stop at the Scythe’n’Saw to pick up Maka’s toolkit before heading to Tezca’s. The entirety of Market Street is mostly deserted, like it always is the day after HarvFest, debris scattered in the street and lantern lights still dangling from the street posts.

“I’ll be back in a few minutes,” Maka says, unsnapping her seat belt. “Might as well check on a few things since I’m here.”

“Hurry back.” Soul closes his eyes as she leaves the car, exhaustion coming back to him in a rush now that he’s alone for the first time since yesterday.

Keeping himself awkwardly angled in his seat so he doesn’t completely fall asleep, he allows himself to hover somewhere between consciousness and drifting off, admitting to himself reluctantly that Kid may have had a point when he said they needed a break.

It creeps up on him, like a spider crawling up his body, and similarly, once he becomes aware of the voice, he’s unable to ignore it.

Soul’s eyes snap open. “What do you want?” he asks irritably, staring out of the windshield and into the dimming sky. The voice continues to echo wordlessly in his ears. “Why can’t you leave me alone?”

The slam of the trunk makes him jump in his seat, and he catches a glimpse of Maka in the rearview mirror as she walks from behind the car. She opens the driver’s door a moment later, ducking her head as she slides into her seat.

“All set,” she says, looking over at him, a frown replacing the steady look on her face. “Are you okay?”

“You’re really asking that question?” He doesn’t mean to snap, but his instincts move far faster than his mind.

“Yes, I am,” she shoots back, glaring at him now. “People care about you, and you don’t have to act like a jerk when they do!”

She’s right, but he still searches for something to retort, biting his tongue when he finds nothing.

After a moment of stony silence, she says, “I know you’re stressed out with everything that’s been happening, and you want to figure out why it’s happening, and we’re trying to help, but we still have our own stuff to deal with.”

Guilt washes over him like a wave. He doesn’t deserve any of their help, least of all hers. “I know.”

“It’s not like I’m saying that I’m not going to help or that I don’t believe you anymore,” she continues, glancing at him as she drives. “But we should have some fun, too, right?”

“I guess fun is acceptable,” he says grudgingly. “But only if you don’t try to make me dance.”

“No promises,” she says, a smile twitching on her lips.

He’s trying to find a better way to say sorry than just saying so when he remembers the cemetery. “I saw your mom,” he says, looking at her as he speaks. “I told her what you told me.”

“Oh.” The expression on Maka’s face freezes, becoming tightly wound. “Thank you for doing that.”

“I made sure she was clean, too,” he says, unsure how she’d react to him saying “grave”. “I don’t mind doing that in the future, if you want.”

Shock ripples across her face, like it’s been a long time since anyone offered her help that wasn’t related to work, and he supposes that that might be true, with maintaining the shop taking up all her time and Spirit’s withdrawal from everything.

“I appreciate that, but I think might want to leave her some flowers,” she answers. The weight of her gaze rests on him briefly, then shifts back to the road. “Though I don’t think I can do it alone.”

Like last night, he answers her unspoken question. “You don’t have to.”

* * *

Tezca’s house, like the man, is a mixture of eccentric and eclectic. The broken down mini-carousel that his neighbors have futilely attempted to force him to get rid of for years is still sitting in the middle of his front yard, weeds and plants sticking up nearly as tall as the ride.

Soul spies Tezca sitting on a carousel horse that he painted to resemble a dragon as Maka pulls into the driveway, wearing the teddy bear head that no one has ever seen him without, even before his accident. Like the rest of town, Soul has no idea how old the man truly is, but since he’s been around for as long as nearly anyone in Shibunsen Springs can remember, he’s known as Old Man Tezca.

“About time you showed up,” he says, hopping down from the dragon horse with a limber nimbleness that’s impressive for someone who was nearly crushed to death by a tractor. He doesn’t comment on Soul’s presence or bring up his three year long absence, although he supposes that he has no room to, considering Tezca was also known as the crazy person of the town before Soul stole his title.

“I already know the way to the boiler.” Maka carries her toolkit with one hand. “I hope you don’t mind that I brought company,” she says as she nods to Soul, not sounding like she cares at all.

“I always welcome a new reflection on my art.” Somehow, Tezca is smoking, cigarette smoke escaping from the small gap where the bear’s mouth should be. The flat, painted on eyes of the bear head stare unblinkingly at Soul before he spins around and strolls up the porch. 

“Don’t you mean perspective?” Soul asks as Tezca lets them into the house, wondering how he is able to see anything.

A wild laugh comes from underneath the mask, which was not the reaction he was expecting in the slightest. Soul pauses in the tiny foyer the front door has opened up to, glancing at Maka, who only gives him a look that clearly says she understands his bewilderment, before addressing Tezca. “I’ll be in the basement.”

Soul makes to follow her, but an arm yanks him back.

“Weren’t you listening?” Tezca’s tone is scolding. “I need your reflection.”

He protests as Tezca leads them away from the hallway Maka disappeared down, and into a much longer one. “I only took one art class in college, and I failed that.”

Again, Tezca only laughs, letting go of Soul’s arm as they enter what he assumes is his studio.

There’s a couch in one corner of the room, angled at a weird slant, and patched so many times it resembles an oversized quilt rather than a couch while the floor is cluttered with easels. The walls are covered in mirrors of different shapes and sizes, with paintings squeezed into the gaps between them. Thankfully, his more risque paintings are nowhere to be seen, though the sight of himself reflected from so many different angles is no less discomforting.

“After my accident, I saw that the only things bestowed equally upon everyone are life and death,” Tezca says, smoke wafting through his mask. He goes to stand in front of a full-length mirror while Soul stays in front of the patchwork couch, head tilted like he’s puzzled at what he sees in it. “I look for it everywhere now.”

Tezca doesn’t say anything else, and Soul is forced to ask, “What do you mean by _it_?”

“You should know,” He whirls around suddenly, surging up to him so that Soul has no choice but to sit down on the couch, hands waving wildly. “You’ve seen it!”

Leaning back into the couch, he answers, “I’ve seen a lot of things.”

A small giggle tumbles out from Tezca. “Fair enough, man. You’ll get it eventually.”

Soul has no idea if Tezca is referring to anything that matters, or if it’s just words, but the man doesn’t give him room to speak.

“Tea,” he declares. “Maybe that’ll help.”

Before Soul can react, Tezca leaps over a painting that still appears wet, heading down a short hallway that he assumes leads to the kitchen.

As soon as Tezca’s footsteps fade, Soul gets up, not sure where he’s going, but very sure he won’t be drinking anything Tezca offers him. He goes back down the hallway and into the foyer, vacillating between going back out to the car and looking for Maka.

He chooses the latter, if only because the last time he was in the car alone, the voice resurfaced. Unlike the rest of the house, the hallway to the basement is dark, and he stumbles when he walks into the door, slightly ajar.

Annoyed, he yanks it open and enters the landing, pulling it closed so Tezca doesn’t hear him talking to Maka. He picks his way down the stairs, looking around the room-which is mostly filled with more mirrors and painting supplies-before he spots the boiler at the far side of the room, perched on spindly legs.

Maka is heavily concentrated on whatever she’s working on with the boiler, not noticing Soul until he’s right next to her. “Hey there.”

She lets out a gasp, whirling around. When she spots him, she scowls. “I was about to punch you in the face.”

“You could still do that.”

Rolling her eyes, she turns back to the boiler. “So, you only lasted five minutes with Tezca, huh?”

“It’s hard holding a conversation with someone you can’t even make eye contact with,” he says, peering at the part of the boiler she is tinkering with. “What’s wrong with the boiler?”

“Only a couple loose bolts, which caused the circulator pump to stop working. I fixed it and now I’m just checking to make sure everything else is working.” She replaces the metal panel she removed from the boiler, screwing it back in place. “But you should know Tezca doesn’t like being left behind or ignored, so prepare yourself.”

“That’s why I closed the door,” he answers. “He shouldn’t be able to find me for a while.”

A horrified edge enters Maka’s voice. “But that door locks automatically!”

“Oh,” is all Soul can say. He watches as she drops her screwdriver back into her toolkit, and strides past him. “But won’t he hear us calling?”

“Nope.” Maka takes the stairs two at a time. “He didn’t answer for two hours the first time I was called out here. I was banging on the door the entire time.”

“Shit.” There’s only a narrow window in the basement, not even big enough for him to stretch his arm out of. He starts to follow her up the stairs, but she turns around, stopping him.

“Try banging on the ceiling by the boiler,” she orders. “He might hear that since it’s closer to the rest of the house.” A stern look enters her eyes. “But don’t do anything else to get his attention.”

Soul examines the basement as he goes back down the stairs: there’s a few painter’s stools that look long enough to reach the ceiling, though they prove far too heavy for him to lift for more than a few seconds. The brushes are no good either, and there is nothing in Maka’s toolkit long enough to reach the ceiling.

Moving aside a couple pieces of cardboard covered in paint splatter, Soul spies the end of a bat underneath a canvas, recognizing it for what it is before he can even get a better look.

It’s made out of aluminum instead of wood, which will make a louder sound. He takes a spot next to the boiler, lifting the bat high and tapping the ceiling with a tentative poke.

It barely makes a sound.

He’s trying to work up the courage to hit the ceiling harder when the knocking from Maka’s end stops. “Have you found anything yet?” she calls from the stop of the stairs.

“Yeah,” he calls back, staring at the bat.

“Then start banging unless you want to be stuck here for the rest of the night.” Her knocking resumes after that.

He swallows, hesitating for another second, before smacking the ceiling harder than before. It resounds dully with a thud, and he hits the ceiling again.

When that thud comes out too soft as well, he blocks out the voice coming from his better side, and swings upward like he’s aiming for a home run. The sound reverberates off the ceiling much louder this time. The ceiling is made out of wood, so he has no fear of paint or drywall coming down on him, though dust still sprinkles on his hair.

For a few minutes, he continues to swing at the ceiling, moving around to hit it in different places, but it’s to no avail, and he stops after a particularly loud thud, breathing heavily. Meanwhile, Maka continues to call and knock at the door.

Soul stares at the ceiling. If Tezca had heard them, he would have come long before now, which means he hasn’t heard them, or he’s ignoring the knocking, which Soul can’t completely rule out.

 _But if he hasn’t._ His eyes trail to the boiler, going up to the place where it connects with the pipes running through the rest of the house. If he hit the boiler hard enough, just once, the sound might echo to wherever Tezca is.

 _Only one time,_ a voice says from the part of himself he shouldn’t listen to. _One time won’t hurt._

Rolling the bat between his hands, Soul faces the boiler. It’s old and made out of iron, looking more like a tank than a boiler, and is therefore more durable, he reasons. He tries to estimate the place where it would make the most sound, but even after he finds it, he doesn’t swing immediately, instead glancing behind his shoulder.

But they won’t be getting out of the basement if they keep doing what they’re doing, he tells himself. His grip on the bat tightens.

Something under his skin buzzes. _Just once._

Soul swings before he can think better.

The sound is ear-splitting. The boiler rocks back with a groan, one of its legs now angled at a bad slant, and he sees far too late that he overestimated the force it could take.

Maka’s voice rings out, sharp and alarmed. “What was that?”

“I tripped into some shelves,” he lies as he eyes the distinct dent at the top of the boiler.

“Those weren’t shelves.” The landing creaks as she starts to head down the stairs. “What did you do?”

Before he can invent a lie, Tezca’s voice sounds from the top of the stairs. “Did you lock yourself in here again?”

“I-” Maka goes silent as Tezca’s footsteps tread down the stairs. Her voice has a guilty edge to it when she speaks again. “Couldn’t you hear us from up there?”

“It’s hard to hear anything when I get caught up in my art,” Tezca replies. “The house did feel like it was shaking a second ago, so I thought I should check on things.” 

Maka starts to respond, but whatever she’s about to reply dies on her lips as she and Tezca round the bend in the stairs and her eyes fall on the dented boiler leaning heavily to the right, before going to Soul and the bat.

He drops the bat. “Hi.”

* * *

Maka doesn’t speak to Soul until long after they’ve left Tezca’s house. “Why did you do it?” she asks, looking at the road.

He could argue it was out of necessity, but that wasn’t completely true. “I don’t know,” he says finally. His mind has been stretched too thin today, and he can’t force himself to think anymore, or try to be better than the rut he always sinks back into. “I guess I thought it was a good idea.”

“Well, it wasn’t,” she answers hotly. There’s a weariness in her eyes that seems to stand out more in the dying light. “And I had just asked you not to do anything like that.”

“Yeah, I know.” Her words sting more than he will admit, and his apology sticks in his throat. “I was just trying to help,” he says, trying not to think of how often she’s heard something similar from her father.

The brunt of the anger in her voice abruptly vanishes, leaving behind irritation and a resigned exhaustion. “I know.”

He can’t stand the silence that follows. “At least you got another job out of Tezca.”

“Right,” she snorts. “Because spending an afternoon in Tezca’s basement fixing his boiler is exactly what I envisioned for my Monday. It’s a miracle it still functions.”

Becoming irritated himself, he offers in a not very gracious tone, “I can help.”

“I’m not sure Tezca’s going to be very willing to let you back in his house.”

“Probably not.” He looks out of the window instead of looking at her, and is surprised to see they’re heading in the opposite direction of his house, which was where he assumed they were heading. “Where are we going?”

“The party, remember?” Her fingers drum against the steering wheel. “I said we would go after Tezca’s, and I would like to forget everything for a while.”

He bites back his laugh. “I’m not sure that partying in the dead carcass of a town is going to help you with forgetting much of anything.”

“Big words from someone who just moved back,” she points out with a roll of her eyes. Her lips purse together like they do when she’s thinking hard. “I just need to figure out how to use the momentum from HarvFest to bring more people into the shop. There’s always an uptick in business the week after, but it never lasts.”

“Kinda hard for that to happen in a dead town, isn’t it?” he asks, shrugging. Sarcasm probably isn’t the best way to lighten the mood, but it’s all he’s got. “You can’t reanimate a corpse.”

There’s a slight pop from one of the stitches in her jacket as Maka waves his words away. “The town isn’t dead, it’s been years since the mines shut down and there are still a lot of people here.”

“A lot of dinosaurs survived after the asteroid hit sixty five million years ago, and look where they are now.”

“We aren’t dinosaurs, Soul.” There’s a warning tone in her tone, but he ignores it.

“It’s still the same thing.” He’s not sure why he’s being so persistent about this, but inner reflection has never been his strong suit. He feels like he’s back in the field with the truck again, except this time, he doesn’t know what he’s destroying. “I took an ecology class once, and the professor talked about ecological collapse.”

Maka’s pigtails swing as she looks at him, like a scythe hanging from a chain. “You mean one of those basic, prerequisite classes that is one hundred percent Googable information?”

“Yes, exactly.” Her sarcasm flips the switch in him, and he abandons whatever restraint he had been holding onto. “When something essential to an ecosystem disappears, its carrying capacity gets reduced by a lot. Carrying capacity is-”

Her eyes flash in the last of the sunlight as she looks at him. “I took AP Environmental Science in high school, Soul.”

“So, you know then,” he says. “When the mines closed-”

She cuts him off. “The mines were important, but not essential,” she says, throwing another glance to him. Ahead of them, the road narrows into a single lane in both directions, the beginning of the long stretch of road leading to the base of the mines. “The people are what is needed for a town to survive.”

“How many houses have we passed by?” he asks. “Gorgon Mart is the only store that’s thriving, and that’s because they have enough money to bleed the town dry.” 

“So?” It’s dangerous when her answers become one-worded, but there is no digging out of this ditch even if he had a shovel.

“Extinction by capitalism.” The moment the words come out of his mouth, he knows it’s a mistake, but he has no choice but to follow through with it. “It’s unpleasant, but at least it has a ring to it.”

Several beats of silence pass between them. Soul shifts his weight when Maka doesn’t come back with a retort, finally opening his mouth, but she beats him to the punch.

“Do you really think it’s that funny to watch everything around you disappear?” she asks, without looking at him. “To see all you know crumbling away and know that one day, there is going to be nothing left-not you, or me, or the mines, or even Gorgon Mart’s corporate husk, because that’ll shut down the moment the town is gone.

“It isn’t terrifying to you that there’s nothing you can do about it?” Now she looks at him, and he wishes she hadn’t. Her face is scrunched up, and her voice is shaking like it does when she’s angry, but there’s something in her eyes that’s almost pleading, and it carves into his chest like a knife. “That you realize you mean nothing.”

Her chest is heaving when she’s done, hands clenched around the steering wheel, as Soul stares at Maka. He’s aware of how hard his own heart is pounding, and lightheadedness pours over him; there are many things he wants to say in response, and many more things he should say, but in the end, he goes with what’s easiest.

“Not really.” He shrugs. “Like you said, it’s not like there is anything anyone can do about it.”

For a second, Maka’s eyes rest on his, then her expression closes as she looks away. She does not talk or look at him for the rest of the car ride.

They arrive at the mining station fifteen minutes later, rows of cars already lined up in the old parking lot outside. Maka turns off the car and exits, although she stops at the front.

A moment passes before Soul follows, hovering a few feet from her so he doesn’t have to see how badly he’s hurt and disappointed her.

“But even if it doesn’t scare you, don’t you care about it?” she asks after a minute, staring at the ground. “Or how your brother or your parents feel about it, or how I feel about it?

“Or me?” She lifts her chin, gaze meeting his. “Do you care about me at all?”

Somewhere in his head, a voice is screaming at him to answer, but he can’t move, can’t talk, can’t do anything but stare back at her and wish he could be _better_.

There’s a sad smile on her lips as she turns away. “You don’t have to answer,” she says. “I already know.”


	17. Cold and Alone, It Suits You Well

_Lesson 17: You can never take back your words._

* * *

_Three years ago_

* * *

_The calls start almost immediately after his family takes him home from the station; some are from Black Star and Jackie, others are from people whose calls his parents never take in his presence, but most are from Maka._

_He finds he doesn’t care at all. Once the blood had lifted from his eyes, and he had seen the state of Hiro’s face as he lay under him on the stage, bat still in his hand, something had broken._

_Or perhaps he had realized he was always broken; the difference didn’t really matter. He didn’t deserve to care about anything, or for anyone care about him. So he ignores the calls, stays in his room, and when his friends show up knocking at his door, he ignores that, too._

_And when his parents suggest the hospital four days after the show, he says yes._

* * *

_They leave in the middle of the night, like they’re fugitives, and he supposes that they are. Even in his daze, he realizes that the phone calls they make are to lawyers and Hiro’s family, that they’re breaking their backs for him to avoid the worst, a truth that would eat away at him if he could feel anything, because the worst is the least he deserves._

_Instead of driving all the way to the city, they drive to the train station. He doesn’t question it-the trek to the city would take over half a tank of gas and back, and they are living check to check these days. While his mother buys tickets, he drifts to the rotating display of brochures for different locations, browsing through it with an apathetic disinterest, pretending not to notice his father watching him from the seats._

_When she returns from the ticket stand and calls him over, only two tickets in her hand, his father explains, “I have to take care of a few things here.” He adjusts his glasses for the millionth time since they’ve arrived, standing up. “But I’ll join you in a few days.”_

_He nods, and his father clasps his shoulder briefly before leaving._

_For the next hour, he and his mother wait in the tiny waiting area of the station; he watches the moon rising in the station’s front window, and carefully avoids any attempts she makes at conversation, though that doesn’t deter her from continuing to try._

_“It won’t mess up anything, you know,” she says after he thinks she has finally given up. “About your admission, so long as you do this, if that’s what you’re worried about.”_

_“That’s exactly what I was worried about,” he says. In the past four days, he’s found that at least his sense of sarcasm has stayed intact, though perhaps it’s sharper now. “Not about my life falling apart.”_

_“College is part of your future, Soul.” His mother takes a firmer tone with him than she has since the show. “We’re going to do what we need to do to make sure you’re okay, and I-”_

_Her phone rings shrilly, and she jumps, looking down._

_A frown forms on her face when she sees the number, and he knows it’s a person she doesn’t want to talk to in front of him. “I have to take this,” she says, checking the time on her watch. “The train should be here by ten-thirty, so if it arrives, tell the conductor to wait.”_

_He gives her a two-fingered salute, and she glances at him one more time before getting up, going off in the direction of the bathroom._

_Settling in his seat as comfortably as he can, he closes his eyes and tries to sleep. Even though sleeping has turned into the opposite of restful, it’s better than being forced to exist in his head. A voice from the back of his mind wonders what exactly he’s agreed to by going to the hospital, but he ignores it with a little effort, falling into a doze._

_“Found you!”_

_Soul’s eyes fly open as Maka comes to a stop in front of him, looking like she just ran a marathon. Her hair is loose and her eyes are unusually bright as she points at him, chest heaving. “Why haven’t you answered my calls?”_

_He’s too shocked to react the way he should; it’s the first time he’s felt anything other than apathy in days. “What are you doing here?”_

_“I called your brother and he told me you were leaving.” She draws closer until she’s all he can see. “Why didn’t you tell me?” she asks. “Why didn’t you see me when I came to your house?”_

_“Isn’t it obvious?” He recovers remarkably fast, standing as he answers, pushing her hurt expression out of his vision. “I don’t want to see anyone.”_

_Her temper flares, like he knew it would. “Well, I’m not anyone, Soul.” She ducks back into his line of view. “And you can’t avoid everyone forever.”_

_Hearing her say his name makes something twist in his chest, something he’d thought had died when the world broke in front of his eyes. It’s even more painful than the moment when the blood lifted and he’d seen what he had done._

_“Isn’t that what I’m doing?” he says, gesturing around them._

_“You can’t run from yourself,” she replies flatly before the anger drops from her face. “We don’t have to talk about it,” she says, stepping close to him again. “But we’re here for each other through everything, remember?”_

_He doesn’t want to think about what they said to each other after her mother’s funeral. He doesn’t want to think about anything at all._

_“Consider yourself released from that promise,” he says with a casual shrug. “This time tomorrow, I’ll be in the city, and everything and everyone in this shitty town will be long behind me.”_

_The anger rises in her face again, stronger this time, but she bites back what she’s about to say and taking a deep breath. “I know what you’re doing,” she says flatly. “But you can’t fool me when I know you better than anyone else.”_

_“That’s the beauty of time and distance.” The sound of the train whistle filling the station and the sudden bustle of people from the far side of the station helps him hide how badly his hands are shaking. “It’s easy for any person to become anyone with enough of it.”_

_“That’s bullshit and you know it.” Heat floods in her voice as she takes his hand, grasping his wrist tightly. “If you have to leave to get better, then leave,” she says, swallowing hard. Faintly, against his palm, he can feel the thrumming of her pulse in her wrist. “But you don’t have to be alone in this.”_

_For an instant, he sees the future she outlines, and he grips her hands just as fiercely as she’s holding his. Then, whatever has come back alive in his chest twists into him even more painfully, and he sees all the ways it could fall apart. There’s no way to tell what will happen if he comes out of the shell he’s constructed for himself where everything is the same, even if it’s all only misery._

_“It’s pretty sad that you can’t say you’re the one who doesn’t want to be alone.” He’s never been so pleased at how expertly he can ruin his own life, watching his words hit home in the hurt blooming across her expression._

_Pulling his hand free, he moves away from Maka and towards the train. “But people leave people behind all the time, and you should get used to it.”_


	18. The Long Fall

_Lesson 18: Be careful who you follow in the dark._

* * *

Maka snaps into motion as soon as the words leave her lips, plunging towards the lights and music coming from inside the mining station. It shakes Soul from his shocked daze, and he scrambles after her, but she’s too quick. Her name is stuck in his throat, but it never makes it past his tongue. He has no idea what to say or do to reverse this past hour, to get back to the place where they were-all he feels is the desperate _need_ to fix the one relationship he never really wanted to leave behind.

The darkened path leading to the station’s auditorium is overflowing with people, and he struggles to keep his eyes on Maka as she increases her pace. Glowing lights shaped like mushrooms are interspersed evenly along the edge of the path, casting a surreal neon tint on everything, though they do little to chase away the darkness or help him track down Maka. He loses her entirely when he crashes into a group of people who seem to materialize out of nowhere.

“Watch where you’re going, man!” The teenager he ran into scowls up at him, hand balled into a fist. Soul recognizes the boy as the teenager who called out to him the day he nearly got ran over by Maka. The boy also appears to remember Soul, his sour expression freezing, turning nervous and borderline fearful as he slinks away with a mumbled, “Sorry.”

The teenager’s friends shrink away from Soul, too, but he doesn’t care, shoving his way through the group and continuing toward the station. Pausing just inside the station’s auditorium’s entrance, he searches the people coming in and out for a moment, before craning his head over the crowd of people dancing in the middle of the station. By some kind of miracle, he spots Maka hovering nearby at the edge of the crowd. She turns in his direction as he does, her gaze somehow locking with his in spite of the dozens of people around them.

He freezes, as does she, mouth half-open, like she’s about to speak. Then she snaps it shut, and twists around, disappearing into the crowd before he can do more than lift his hand towards her.

An emotion far more painful than anything he’s felt since he returned carves deep into Soul’s entire body; the Maka he knew before often made impulsive decisions, but the Maka he knows now rarely makes any decision without thinking it through three times over.

 _Well, what did you expect?_ The voice from the worse side of himself is vicious, reveling in the pain, waking up everything he ever buried. _You make mistake after mistake, and you expect to be given a new chance every single time? This is everything you deserve._

This way of losing everything is much worse than how he lost it three years ago-it’s silent, violent, and he’s completely aware of all his mistakes the whole way down. Distantly, a voice tells him that it’s not like Maka said she never wanted to see him again, but he’s not in the mood to be optimistic. Instead, he does what he does best, pushing his emotions deep down. Forcing himself to move, he pulls to the side of the wall closest to the dance floor, eyes darting to the crowd every few seconds while the voice in his head continues to mock him. Meanwhile, his hand reaches in his pocket for his phone, the idea that he might call Wes floating in his mind until he remembers he’s staying in the city. Briefly, he considers calling his parents, before dismissing the thought just as quickly-they’re probably still sleeping, and either way, he doesn’t want to subject himself to the interrogation that will come if they pick him up here.

Contemplating his next plan, which only consists of getting the fuck out of here, he tells himself to move, but his feet do not comply, keeping him rooted in place. However, he moves easily enough when he realizes how thirsty he is, heading deeper into the party. _It’s only for a drink, and then I’ll go,_ he tells himself, keenly aware of how bad he is at lying to himself.

Instead of examining that thought, he glances around, looking for Black Star, or Kid, or even Kim, but there are scores of people here, far more than even the most popular party at the Fire Pit. Like HarvFest, neon lantern lights serve as the party’s main decoration, hanging from the ceiling, and accompanied by the occasional strobe light. Its set-up has always reminded Soul of a middle school dance, with mismatching chairs and circular tables positioned around the main dance floor.

He finds the drinking station, a long banquet table covered in drinks, at the far side of the auditorium, where a hallway in the very back splits off into half a dozen smaller rooms that most people use to hang out in a smaller setting. For a moment, he considers searching for Maka there before he realizes he still has no idea what to say and, besides, she had already made it very clear she didn’t want to see him now.

 _Or ever,_ a voice from the back of his mind adds.

Gritting his teeth, he steers clear of the alcohol in the middle of the table, fishing a diet coke from an ice chest, and ambling alongside the dance floor until he finds an empty table. Dropping down in a chair, he opens the soda with a soft _pop_ and takes a long drink. The coldness settles the jitteriness gnawing at his stomach a bit, although it doesn’t help with the turmoil of thoughts running through his head.

Even though he takes slow sips, he still finishes the coke in no time, but he doesn’t immediately leave. Picking at the tab of the can, he watches the dance floor, music blaring from unseen speakers. Instead of actually dancing, most of the people out there are simply swaying to the beat of the music.

The volume of the music does nothing to help his headache, which had been lying dormant, although it returns with a vengeance now. It clamps around his head in a vicelike grip, and he presses his hands against his temples, squeezing hard. For the first time, he realizes how long he’s been awake, and how much he would like not to be.

Letting his hands fall back to his sides, he gives up, getting up from the table. There’s no use in staying when he knows Maka doesn’t want to talk to him-the best thing that he can hope for is that she’s willing to hear him out tomorrow.

In his pocket, his phone buzzes and his heart leaps in his chest for a moment, before he pulls out it and sees Black Star’s name flashing across the screen.

_Black Star: dude maka keeps ignoring my messages are you here yet???_

_Soul: we’re here_

_Black Star: i sense a but coming_

He weighs how honest he wants to be.

_Soul: but i accidentally jammed my foot in my mouth and she left_

_Black Star: dude :[_

_Soul: yeah_

_Black Star: is there anything i can do?_

_Soul: not unless you could get me a new personality_

_Black Star: >:[ _

_Black Star: we’re in one of the rooms off the auditorium if you wanna come hang out_

_Soul: nah i think im gonna go but thanks_

He shoves his phone back in his pocket before he can read Black Star’s response, tossing his soda can into a trash can nearby as he heads for the exit.

“Leaving already?” asks a voice from behind him.

He turns to find Kim standing with her arms crossed. She has on a black shirt with the words _Shibunsen Springs’ Poet Society_ on it, and is wearing copious amounts of glittery eyeshadow that’s nearly as pink as her hair.

“You’ve made yourself official?” he says instead of answering her question, gesturing to her shirt. “I thought you didn’t like sharing your poems.”

“Yeah, well, I changed my mind,” she says dismissively, waving a hand. “Plus, the attention the society gives to my brilliance is nice.”

“I can imagine.” He searches for a way to excuse himself from the conversation that isn’t rude. “Well, I gotta go-”

“You haven’t forgotten about your promise, have you?” she interrupts, raising an eyebrow. 

“My what?” It takes him a minute to remember the last time they spoke. “Oh, that.”

“Yes, that,” she replies breezily. “The society’s set up a poetry jam in one of the back rooms. Are you coming?”

“Uh-”

“Great,” she says, clapping her hands together. “We’re in the second room on the left. I’m going to go see if I can wrangle some other people up.”

She leaves before Soul can say anything else, and he stares after her. For a second, he weighs simply leaving, but he knows what Kim will do to him if he doesn’t go. He finds the room easily enough, spotting round tables and a podium before being waylaid by a cacophony of sound.

“Dude, I thought you just told me you were leaving,” Black Star exclaims as he leaps up from one of the tables, bounding over to him as Kid follows.

“Kim happened,” he says, shrugging. “You know she doesn’t take no for an answer.”

“Sounds a little like what happened to us,” says Kid. “Though I’ve never been to a poetry jam before, so I am intrigued.”

“A lot of people yammering about their feelings,” Black Star answers as he leads them back to the table he and Kid had been sitting at. “So, exactly like a therapy session, but the words rhyme.”

“They don’t necessarily have to rhyme.” Soul takes a seat on the opposite side of Black Star, rubbing his head. Now that he’s away from the blasting noise of the music, his head feels a little better, although his mind continues to replay what Maka said to him over and over.

“But the yammering about feelings is true either way.” Black Star takes a closer look at Soul as he speaks, pausing. “Are you feeling okay, dude? You look kinda pale.”

“Never better.” The lie rolls off his tongue easily, but he doesn’t have to look at Black Star or Kid to know they don’t believe him.

“We’ll have another go at finding your ghost tomorrow,” Kid says as Kim enters the room with a troupe of people wearing the same shirt as hers.

“It’s fine.” Annoyance stabs through him, but it’s entirely irrational so he works to keep it out of his voice. “I don’t think there’s much of a point in it anyways. Maka isn’t talking to me, and she was the reason we got as far as we did.”

“It’ll blow over, I’m sure,” says Black Star, though he exchanges a glance with Kid.

Soul doesn’t have the opportunity to answer, something he isn’t sure is a good or bad thing, as Kim taps imperiously on the microphone at the podium. “Hello, welcome to our poetry jam,” she says. There’s a slightly nervous edge in her voice as she speaks. “Thank you for taking the time to come out and visit tonight.”

Black Star snorts.

She steps away from the podium, and a timid-looking person with horn-rimmed glasses approaches the microphone, clearing their voice before starting to speak.

Soul isn’t quite listening as they speak, nor does he absorb much of what the next four people read. Although he was mostly being sarcastic when Kid talked about continuing to look for answers, it’s true when he said it didn’t have a point anymore. He’s not sure what he was thinking when he asked for help, but everything would have been better off if he hadn’t. All he’s accomplished with it is getting Maka not to talk to him, along with making his only friends doubt his sanity.

Applause breaks out as he vows to himself to never reach out for help again, and he blinks, nonplussed, before he sees that the applause is directed towards the stage.

Kim has retaken the podium, hooking a lock of hair behind her ear. “Thank you for your attention,” she says. “We’ll be taking a short intermission, so be sure to be back in your seats in ten minutes.”

“I think I liked the one about a grape the most,” says Black Star as the light buzz of conversation breaks out among the audience. “But that might just be because I’m hungry.”

“Why don’t we look for something to eat?” Kid suggests. “I thought I saw some food stands outside.”

“I’d go for anything remotely edible right now.” Black Star stretches as he gets up, lifting his arms high over his head and glancing at Soul. “Want to come with us?”

“I’m not that hungry,” he says, shaking his head. “You can go, I’ll hold our spots.”

“We’ll bring back any extras we can wrangle,” Kid tells him as he follows after Black Star.

Giving a wave in response, Soul drops his hand back to the table, drumming his fingers against the top as he examines the room. Most people in the audience have stayed where they are; some of them are now visiting each other’s tables, though no one tries to approach his.

It doesn’t help the bad mood percolating under his skin, even though he can’t stand making small talk with people he barely knows. He takes out his phone on impulse, a half-complete message to Maka already in his head, before he remembers the look on her face when she asked him if he cared about her.

Scowling at nothing, he puts his phone back in his pocket; as much as he wants to fix this, he needs to wait until he can talk to Maka in person, and not send a rambling apology over text.

“So what do you think so far?” The sound of Kim’s voice makes him look up to see that she’s taken Black Star’s spot.

“Um, it’s good,” he says, unable to admit he hasn’t been paying attention. “I liked the one about the grape a lot.”

She raises an eyebrow. “You don’t have to put your lack of taste on display like that, you know.”

He bristles, kicking himself for borrowing anything Black Star said he liked. “I like what I like.”

“You can let me know if you like my poem or not,” she says, getting up. “I’m the first one to go after the break.”

“Good luck.”

“Genius doesn’t need luck,” Kim answers, sniffing. She considers. “Though maybe a water would help.”

Watching her vanish through the door, Soul goes back to studying the pattern of the table top. After the second half of the jam, he will ask Black Star and Kid for a ride home, and they’ll hopefully tell Maka they dropped him off if they saw her.

Swallowing, he thinks about what kind of conversation awaits them when they’re driving home, but he supposes it’s better than the limbo they’re in right now. He feels feverish all of a sudden, and he wonders if Black Star had a point when he asked if he was feeling all right.

The world seems to get smaller at that moment, as the voice from the forest drips into the room, louder than it’s ever been before. Soul recoils as it winds through his ears, clinging to the inside of his head. 

For a second, he sits in frozen terror, pondering if he could just ignore the voice, and then it swells higher, growing the loudest by the door. In that instant, he knows it is calling him to follow it, and he’s already out of his seat and halfway to the door before he can think through his decision.

In the hallway, he pauses, listening hard and catching a glimmer of the voice at the end of the hallway leading back to the dance floor. Moving before he can lose track of the voice, he plunges back into the auditorium.

It’s harder to pick out the voice among the blasting music, but he catches hold of it from across the auditorium, faint and distant, but there. At first, he starts to navigate his way along the perimeter, but when he loses the voice entirely, he backtracks, eyeing the crowd for a second before entering the dance floor.

There is no direct way through the crowd, so Soul fits himself through the gaps between the knots of people, using his elbows to create his own path when necessary. Most people in the crowd are drunk, or are so stuck in their own world, that hardly anyone protests when he has to push his way through, which is why he nearly jumps out of his own skin when someone grabs his arm as he reaches the end of the crowd.

“There you are.” Maka shouts much too loudly even for the loud music permeating through the room. Her hand slips down his arm and into his hand. “Where have you been?”

Soul notices the slight way she’s swaying, which is why he doesn’t pull his hand away, or so he tells himself. “I thought you didn’t want to see me.”

“Oh, that’s water under the bridge,” she says with an exaggerated wave of her hand. “Everything’s fine now.” She gives his hand a tug. “C’mon, let’s dance.”

He frowns, the voice entirely forgotten. “Are you drunk?”

She gives a quick shake of her head. “No, but I wish I was.”

Raising an eyebrow skeptically, he asks, “Have you drank at all?”

“I always limit myself to one drink,” she says, holding up two fingers.

“Maybe we should go outside,” he suggests.

A pout tugs on her lips. “But the dancing is here.”

“We can dance outside,” he says quickly. “There’s more room out there, anyways.”

For a moment, she considers, and then gives a reluctant nod. “Fine.”

He makes sure to keep a firm grip on her hand as he guides them to one of the many side doors leading out of the auditorium. The forest looms in front of them as they exit into one of the clearings that leads to the mines.

A cold breeze blows down from the mountains stretching out in the distance. It raises goosebumps on his skin, although it seems to clear Maka’s head. She rubs at her face. “I am going to have such a headache in the morning.”

He doesn’t know what the proper response is, so he just says, “Sorry.”

“It’ll pass.” She takes a deep breath, tilting her head to the sky. An awkward silence settles the longer they stand outside together.

Trying to channel a courage he doesn’t have, he starts to speak. “About earlier-”

“I don’t want to talk about that right now,” she says, still not looking at him. “I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

He doesn’t have to ask what she means by “it”.

“Okay.” He’s consumed by that desperate need to make sure that she doesn’t hate him. “What about that dance then?”

She blinks as she finally looks at him. “What?”

“You wanted to dance?” What’s meant to be a statement comes out as a question; he’s fully aware of how stupid he sounds. “Remember?”

“Oh.” It’s hard to tell in the dark, but it seems like her face has turned pink. “We don’t have to.”

If he could see her face fully, he’d never be able to say what he’s about to say. “I want to, though.”

It’s quiet for such a long time that he starts to think she’s simply not going to answer, and then-

“I do too.” Her voice is so soft, it’s almost a whisper.

They reach for each other at the same time. His heart is pounding, and his palms are inordinately clammy; he prays she doesn’t notice as they settle into a vague version of a waltz. They go around in more or less the same square, forwards, backwards and again. There’s only the muffled sound of music coming from the auditorium, and the feeling of Maka’s heartbeat against his chest, nearly as loud as his own, as close together as they are.

Yet there is a wrongness that gnaws at him as they dance, keeping him from enjoying the moment. This tiny space of time should be comforting, peaceful, happy, even, but he can’t bring himself to feel any of it when he knows that, as soon as it’s over, he’s going to do something to screw it up-it’s the pattern of his life, after all.

And he hears it as she turns her face towards him and closes the space between them. The soft murmur of the voice from the mines weaves through his ears as she moves her lips against his while he stands there, frozen, unable to reciprocate, _can’t_ reciprocate, because there are too many things wrong with him, and he won’t bring her aboard a sinking ship.

She stops after a moment, letting go of his hand and stepping back, though he can imagine her heart is beating just as quickly as his. They meet each other’s eyes at the same time, and he says the only thing that he can. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine, I get it.” Her words come out rapid and slightly breathless, and she continues to back away as she trails off. She jerks a thumb in the direction of the mining station. “I’ve got to go.”

She walks away without waiting for an answer, and he watches her go, waiting until she’s vanished from view to twist around to face the forest, balling and relaxing his hands twice before he enters the forest, following the voice as quickly as he can.

It’s as quiet as his dreams, only the voice echoing on the wind, encouraging him forward with its wordless melody. He walks for several minutes before the voice guides him onto a dirt path that leads directly into the mines. Some patches are still covered in gravel, and his footsteps crunch as he gets closer to the entrance.

It isn’t until he’s nearly reached the mines that he hears the angry voices ahead of him, accompanied by a loud moaning from someone who is clearly in agony. Narrowly, he veers behind a tree, waiting to peek out until he’s sure whoever else is here hasn’t seen or heard him.

About twenty feet away, eight figures, dressed in long black cloaks with hoods, stand over a man who is similarly dressed, although his hood is down. Only the outline of his face is visible, but it’s clear that he’s in pain, doubled over on the ground. Squinting at the other figures, Soul can tell they’re not wearing anything to cover their faces either, with the exception of the figure in the middle, who wears a mask that makes his face look skeletal.

They look exactly like the shadow that’s been following him around, though he can’t think further through that realization as one of the people starts to speak.

“You’re a damn idiot, Beade,” growls the figure wearing the mask, though his voice sounds vaguely familiar. “How could you drop an arm in the middle of town?”

“It was a mistake,” the man on the ground pleads. “Please stop.”

“No one can hear you out here,” answers the figure with the mask coldly. “I pull my weight more than any of you because of the gifts the Black Goat has given me, and you can’t even take care of getting rid of a body It rejected.”

“It won’t happen again,” he says from the ground. “I promise.”

“Promises are not actions,” the masked figure says flatly. He doesn’t move, yet the man starts to yell and moan again, met with mixed reactions from the others. Eventually, he stops whatever he’s doing and he turns his back on man on the ground, to the rest of the group.

“We need another body to appease the Black Goat, since last time didn’t work,” he says. “Does anyone have any ideas?”

He’s met with silence as the other figures shift around. Finally, one of the figures on the left speaks. “This is the third time our offering hasn’t been accepted. What if the Black Goat doesn’t want anything to do with us anymore?”

As soon as the words leave his mouth, he’s on the ground like the other man, yelling and holding his head. The masked figure looks back at the others, who have shrunken away from him. “Any other suggestions?”

“The elders are coming,” another figure says suddenly, and the others scramble to assemble themselves in a single row, even the man who was just tortured. The masked figure stays where he is, along with the man who was on the ground when Soul first saw them.

The sound of something snapping to the right of him nearly makes Soul jump from out of his hiding spot. His heart thuds in his chest as he searches the patch of forest right next to him, but he sees nothing. Turning his attention back to the scene in front, he tries and fails to ignore the thoughts running through his head as two figures come out of the mine’s entrance. _A cult,_ his mind screams at him. _You’re living in a town where people belong to a death cult._

He’s distracted by someone speaking. “So, it was you, Beade?” asks one of the figures who just arrived. Like the rest, he wears a black cloak and a hood obscures his face, although there appears to be something written on the cloak that Soul can’t make out. 

“It’s a mistake that I expect won’t happen again.” The figure holds out a hand to Beade, who takes it eagerly, nodding his head rapidly.

“It won’t, I promise,” he babbles as he rises. “Thank you, elder, I-”

“That’s it?” the masked figure interrupts flatly. “If someone had made that mistake even five years ago, we would have fed them to the Black Goat.”

There are a couple people behind the figure who nod, and the elder who hasn’t yet spoken yet steps forward, addressing everyone. “Five years ago, our town was surviving, and there was the promise of Shibunsen Springs returning to its former glory with the highway extension and Gorgon Mart’s development.” He paces down the line. “Then, the storm happened, and the extension was cancelled. Now, Gorgon Mart is just a leech on our economy.”

He returns to his original place next to the other elder. “All because we stopped offering the Black Goat sacrifices, because we were arrogant enough to think our problems solved. And now we struggle even to limp along as our numbers continue to dwindle. Considering this, would you throw away someone who is dedicated to our cause of fighting for our existence?”

There are murmurs of “No” and “Of course not, elder” from every figure lined up, even from the people who had agreed with the masked figure earlier, who says nothing and looks at the ground stonily.

Soul has heard more than enough, and he eases his way back from the tree as quietly as he can, while the elders continue to speak to the cult. He’s nearly made it ten feet when he steps on a fallen branch and it snaps loudly. His eyes fly back to the group as he prays like he’s never prayed before that no one heard him.

“What was that?” He hears one of the people say while more than half of the figures raise something long and metallic in their hands, and Soul belatedly realizes they are carrying guns.

There’s a shout from the crowd. “Over there!”

Abandoning all pretenses of staying quiet, Soul breaks out into a run, staying on the dirt path for a moment before veering into the forest. He nearly crashes face first into a tree, stumbling over an exposed root. Pushing himself to go as fast as he can without tripping, he doesn’t dare look behind him, although he can hear the distinct sound of footsteps coming after him. Distantly, he thinks he hears his name being called, but he doesn’t slow down to confirm it.

Ahead of him, a shadow shifts, and an icy feeling washes through Soul when he sees it is not a shadow at all, but the figure with the mask, walking through a tree like smoke. His mind flicks back to the figure running through the fence as he changes direction suddenly to keep from colliding with him. The figure makes a grab for him, actually managing to wrap a hand around his wrist, but his grip on Soul isn’t solid, and he wrenches his arm free, running with a new burst of adrenaline.

“He’s moving east,” the figure yells. “We can’t lose him!”

Immediately, Soul switches back to running in the direction of the mining station, which is visible through the trees. He has no idea if the cult will continue to chase him there, but the crowd will at least give him a better place to hide. Afterwards, he can look for Maka or Black Star and beg for a ride home.

He’s just formulated this plan when a shot rings out. The bullet misses him, but he recoils on reflex, and he trips over a mound of dirt, getting a glimpse of the tree root on the ground before his head knocks into it.

The world goes black.

* * *

She was an idiot.

Not even her voice of reason swoops in to save her as Maka makes her way back to the auditorium, which is a lot harder without Soul’s hand to steady her. She scowls at a couple coming out of the side entrance she and Soul had come out of, throwing herself into a chair at the first empty table she sees.

Rubbing the sides of her head, she tries and fails not to replay the last five minutes, ignoring the sharp prick of disappointment in her throat and looking for anger, instead finding it only for herself. There were a lot of things she could be mad at Soul for, but what else should she have expected when she kissed him less than an hour after accusing him of not caring about anything and walking off?

Because he did care; if he didn’t, he wouldn’t have asked Black Star to wait on Tick Tock’s, or taken her out for her birthday (even with its mixed results), or helped out with the HarvFest play. It makes what he said to her at the train station even more confusing, along with the multitude of things he’s done or said since he returned that makes it seem like he doesn’t even care about his own life. 

Sucking in a breath, Maka holds it for a moment before letting it back out, but it doesn’t lessen the pain in her heart like she thought it would. There are too many contradictions coming from Soul, and it makes her head hurt if she thinks about it for too long, which may have been why she accepted him back more or less after that first day. There’s a longer list of good he’s brought to her life than hurt, and maybe _that_ was why she had allowed herself to hope that things could go back to the way they had been between them. 

She glares at the tabletop as the lump in her throat gets bigger. But the things he’s done that have hurt her _hurt_ , and she knows she needs to make a decision soon before the pain of leaving is too much for her to withstand.

 _Her life would be easier if she cut him out_ , her voice of reason points out, finally surfacing. _But it wouldn’t be better,_ adds on a voice that sounds more like herself.

Swallowing, Maka lifts her head. With the exception of her outburst, whenever Soul tried bringing up what happened, she always shut him down, or gave him very little room to speak about it, and that was a mistake, her way of shielding herself from truths that might hurt. She’ll give him the chance to speak about everything-she can’t hold onto people who want to leave, her father is proof of that, but she can give him the opportunity to say it, at least. 

_And if he does?_ asks a voice from the back of her mind.

 _It makes my choice easier._ She firmly shuts down the thought before pain can set in.

Her phone buzzes, and she pulls it out on instinct. There’s a whole slew of texts from Black Star that she’s ignored since she arrived, and she briefly contemplates ignoring this text, too, before realizing she’d have nothing to do but continue thinking.

_[9:57 pm] Black Star: i know youre probably not going to answer this and youre not talking to soul atm but can you check on him hes not answering kid or me_

_[9:58 pm] Maka: I just saw him_

_[9:58 pm] Black Star: so you are alive_

_[9:58 pm] Maka: sorry if that disappoints you_

_[9:59 pm] Black Star: very funny_

_[9:59 pm] Black Star: so did you talk to him or did you just get a glimpse of him? Bc he didn’t look that good to kid or me_

_[10:00 pm] Maka: I was around him for long enough to tell that he is fine_

It’s only after Maka sends the text that she realizes she didn’t get a good look at Soul at all, with how fogged up her head had been. All she could tell is that he hadn’t been drinking.

_[10:00 pm] Black Star: alright if you say so_

_[10:00 pm] Black Star: could you let him know he can ride home w us if you don’t want to give him a ride?_

_[10:01 pm] Maka: I’m not so mad that I’d ditch someone_

She considers for a long moment before sending another text.

_[10:02 pm] Maka: I know where he is gimme a minute to check on him again_

Moving with a bit more ease than before, Maka gets up and makes her way back to the side entrance. There’s no one here now, except for her, and she calls Soul’s name as she enters the clearing where she had last seen him.

No one answers.

Frowning, she calls again, pacing around the edge of the clearing as she searches this time. Again, there is no reply, but as she finishes looking around the perimeter, her eyes go to the mountain in the nearby distance, and the dirt path leading to the mines.

_[10:07 pm] Maka: I think Soul’s in trouble_

* * *

“But why would he go to the mines?” huffs Black Star as he pushes a tree branch out of his face.

“Remember he said that’s where he heard the voice coming from?” answers Maka, stepping over a mound of dirt while dodging a branch herself. They’re going through the forest instead of taking the dirt path that leads to the mines, in case Soul had wandered.

“It’s also the most logical conclusion,” Kid says. He lags behind, the least athletic out of all of them.

“What I don’t understand is why he’d do this alone when I was just with him.” Maka’s words come out with more bite than she means them to, and there’s a pause as Black Star and Kid silently volley over who is going to answer first.

“It is kinda hard to ask you for help when you’re mad,” Black Star volunteers.

She flushes and holds back her retort, because there was no way she was going to say what had happened right before she left Soul.

“And Soul had mentioned to us that he didn’t want to go through with the investigation anymore,” Kid tacks on. “He probably decided to settle it on his own.”

Silence follows, and she speaks when they’re nearly at the mines. “Well, that’s stupid,” she says flatly. “No one gets anywhere without any help.”

“That’s how you’ve tried to act,” Black Star points out.

She’s about to reply when Kid shushes the both of them, yanking them back behind a tree while he points just ahead. “Look,” he says in a low whisper.

Maka gets a glimpse of a small crowd of hooded figures, one of them hunched over on the ground, when Black Star says in a whisper, “Are they playing dress-up in the woods?”

Kid presses a finger to Black Star’s lip as one of the figures suddenly speaks. “The elders are coming.”

Two figures, similarly hooded, appear from the mines. A twig snaps underneath Maka’s foot as she strains to get a better look at them, and she freezes, but none of the figures appear to notice.

One of the figures who came from the mines bends down to the person on the ground. “It was you, Beade?” There is a pause as the figure straightens, holding out a hand. “It’s a mistake that I expect won’t happen again.”

Beade’s rambling thanks as he rises is interrupted by the only figure wearing a mask in the crowd. “That’s it?” he says, tone marked with disdain. “If someone had made that mistake even five years ago, we would have fed them to the Black Goat.”

The name Black Goat stirs something in Maka’s memory, but she’s sure it’s from a book she read, not something that was actually real.

“Five years ago, our town was surviving, and there was the promise of Shibunsen Springs returning to its former glory with the highway extension and Gorgon Mart’s development,” answers the second figure that came from the mines as he walks down the line of hooded figures. “Then, the storm happened, and the extension was cancelled. Now, Gorgon Mart is just a leech on our economy.”

He comes back to his place at the front of the group. “All because we stopped offering the Black Goat sacrifices, because we were arrogant enough to think our problems solved.”

“Sacrifice?” mouths Black Star, eyes wide.

“And now,” the figure goes on, “we struggle even to limp along as our numbers continue to dwindle. Considering this, would you throw away someone who is dedicated to our cause of fighting for our existence?”

Several in the crowd shake their heads, while some murmur, “No.”

The figure continues speaking, but Maka is distracted by a flash of white in the corner of her vision. Soul’s name leaps in her throat as she spots him a short distance away, hiding behind a tree like they are. He’s backing away from the mines, but as she tries to silently get his attention, he steps on something that snaps with a loud sound.

“What was that?” Maka spots the guns in the figures’ hands as they turn to look, and she opens her mouth to warn Soul just as Black Star pulls her back down.

“What are you doing?” he hisses just as another figure shouts, “Over there!”

“Soul,” she says in a forced whisper as the group takes off after him. “He’s who they’re chasing.”

“Shit.” Black Star drops his hands, scrambling up. “Well, let’s go then!”

“Wait,” Kid exclaims, reaching for Black Star. “We don’t have a plan and they have guns.”

“They can’t shoot us if they can’t see us.” Maka jumps up as Black Star shrugs off Kid. “C’mon!”

Maka makes a half-hearted attempt to stay quiet as they run through the forest, following the sounds of the group as they chase Soul. She’s not sure what she’ll do if one of them spots her or the boys, but she prays her body has retained something of what she learned from the self-defense class she took in high school.

It takes a while for her to see anything except the trees in front of her, but when she does, her stomach drops. A figure is taking aim at Soul with his gun, who is nearly out of the forest and just in front of the auditorium where there are people coming out of the main entrance.

She doesn’t think as she seizes a rock from the ground and hurls it at him, hitting the figure squarely in the back. The gun jerks upward as he stumbles and fires, missing Soul completely, but he still falls and does not get back up.

There are sounds of the other members in the group changing their direction as they become aware that Soul wasn’t the only person hiding in the forest. Maka whirls around, looking at Black Star and Kid. “Do something!”

Cupping his hands around his mouth, Black Star’s yell comes out even more magnified than usual. “Old King Arthur’s come looking for his sword!”

“Excalibur!” roar back several people coming from the auditorium, making a beeline for the trees, like they used to when someone used the old chant to jumpstart a game of hide and seek in the woods when they were kids. Many other people from the crowd follow suit after a moment of hesitation, pulled in by the drunken enthusiasm of the other people.

“Go!” Kid’s voice spurs Maka back in action, and they scramble towards Soul. She glances around as they make their way to where she saw him fall; most of the cloaked group has vanished, seemingly in midair, although she thinks she gets a glimpse of a figure wearing a mask that looks like a skeleton staring at her just as she reaches Soul.

He’s completely unconscious as she and Black Star roll him over onto his back, although his eyelids flutter as she pushes back his hair, searching for any sign of a gunshot wound. A rush of relief sweeps through her when she finds none.

“I think I can carry him on my back, if you help me get him there,” grunts Black Star as he attempts to pull him into a sitting position. Both Maka and Kid push Soul up from behind, holding him while Black Star secures him on his back, standing with some difficulty.

Black Star leads while Maka and Kid follow from behind, in case he loses his grip on Soul, as well as to keep an eye out for any of the hooded figures. They make it to the lot where all of the cars are parked, and Maka jams on her key while Kid peers around, pointing to a nearby row. “There’s our car. We can go to our apartment, since it’s closest.”

In the distance, Maka’s car flashes its lights, and she looks back at Kid and Black Star. “My car-”

“I can drive it to our apartment,” says Kid, holding a hand out for her keys. “Unless you want to follow us.”

Maka takes one look at Soul before shoving her keys in Kid’s hands. “I’m staying with him.”

Once they reach the car, she gets in the back seat, helping Kid situate Soul next to her. He gives her a nod, then straightens to clasp Black Star’s hand briefly, before heading off in the direction of Maka’s car. Swallowing, she takes Soul’s hand, gripping it hard until she can feel his pulse through his fingers.

She thinks she feels him squeeze back as Black Star turns on the car, but then she looks at his face, eyes still closed, and figures it was just her imagination.


	19. Interlude [People You Know]

_Lesson 19: No one can do everything on their own._

* * *

_Three years ago_

* * *

_Soul ignores the doctor that comes into his room, instead continuing to doodle in the notebook Wes gave him during his last visit. He doesn’t recognize the doctor, so he figures he must be next in the line of shuffling therapists that have come and gone in the past week. Briefly, he wonders what it is he’ll say that will get this one to exit the room and never come back, but even that vicious curiosity is buried by the overwhelming apathy that’s saturated his life since the recital._

_The doctor doesn’t appear to take offense to his lack of greeting, closing the door behind him and drawing up a chair by his bed. From the corner of Soul’s eye, he sees the doctor glance at a clipboard. “Your name is Soul?”_

_“It appears you can read,” he says by way of answering, not looking up._

_“It’s just a rather odd name,” replies the doctor, shrugging. “Though I’m sure it’s not any indicator as to why you’re here.”_

_Soul is well-versed enough in sarcasm to know when it’s being lobbed at him, and he looks at the doctor for the first time, looking for a target and finding it immediately. “Big words coming from someone whose first name is Franken and last name is Stein.”_

_“My parents had a funny sense of humor,” Stein replies. “Plus, I knew I could get you to look up by commenting on your name.”_

_A flash of something, perhaps annoyance, whips through Soul, and he’s not sure if he should continue to stare at Stein, or if he should look back down, or if that’s also according to the doctor’s plans. He settles for aiming a glare at his clipboard. “What do you want?”_

_“Just a chat,” the doctor answers. “No more than ten minutes or so.”_

_He snorts, picking up his pencil again. “I’m not that interested, doc. Just give your diagnosis and go.”_

_Stein does neither, however, instead peering over at the drawing of the piano he’s working on. “You don’t draw very well.”_

_Soul snaps the notebook shut, shoving it to the side of the bed near the wall before he realizes that’s probably exactly what Stein wanted him to do. He glares at him now, getting a good look. The doctor’s hair is mostly grey, even though he can’t be more than in his mid-thirties; a few scars criss-cross across his face, somewhat obscured by the giant glasses he wears. “You have five minutes.”_

_“I believe I set the rules around here, although you are welcome to make suggestions,” Stein answers, adjusting his glasses. He sits back in his chair and frowns, glancing down. “I forgot this isn’t my rolling chair.”_

_“You have a rolling chair?” Soul asks the question before he can clamp his lips together._

_“It’s my preferred method of transportation in the hospital.” He adjusts his glasses. “But after a few minor incidents, the hospital board banned me from taking my chair out of my office.”_

_Another snort escapes from Soul, although this one is more from amusement than derision. “That’s why I hated thinking about life after graduation. Adulthood is no fun.”_

_“There are its perks,” says Stein. “No one can stop you if you decide to take an impromptu road trip to Yosemite so you can climb Half Dome.”_

_“But California is several states away.”_

_“Exactly,” Stein answers. “I can show you pictures if you don’t believe me.”_

_Soul pauses before he replies to Stein, eyeing him warily. “What do you want, doc?”_

_“Like I said before.” Stein shrugs. “To talk. I think that could do wonders for someone in your situation.”_

_A laugh comes from Soul, though it’s dry and sardonic. “Have you read my chart? Most doctors think I need more than that.”_

_“As you observed, I know how to read,” Stein says steadily. “And while I don’t disagree that medication would be helpful, I believe you need to see how the patterns of your life have brought you here and how you can get yourself out. With medication or not is besides the point.”_

_It takes everything in him to not yell-he’s not even sure where the energy to yell would have come from, when he’s been so lethargic. “I beat up a random dude with a bat.”_

_“That is true,” accedes the doctor. “You had an episode of intense derealization that probably wasn’t helped by the obvious depression and anxiety you’re going through. It had major consequences, but it’s not something you can’t recover from.”_

_He bristles. “Obvious?”_

_In response, Stein gestures to the unmade bed, wrappers from previous meals strewn over and between the sheets from when Soul was too lazy to clean up._

_“Okay.” He gives Stein that one. “So, what am I supposed to get out of talking about my feelings?”_

_“To get to a place where you can recognize when you are entering a spiral, and know how to get out of it, or how to ask for help,” answers Stein. “And if you ever have another episode, you know you have people to rely on.”_

_“And what’s the point in that?” he asks, throwing his hands up in the air. “In any of it?”_

_Stein’s reply is surprisingly quick. “Don’t you have people you want to get back to?”_

_He’s about to reply with a sarcastic retort when his family flashes in his vision, along with Black Star, Jackie, and Kid. It hurts most to think of Maka._

_His mouth closes, and he swallows as he nods._

_“Excellent.” Stein pulls a pen from his lab coat’s pocket, adjusting the clipboard on his lap. “Shall we begin?”_

_An expectant look comes on his face, and Soul realizes he’s waiting for an answer._

_He takes a deep breath before he answers. “Yes.”_


	20. At the End of Everything

_Lesson 20: At the end of everything, hold onto anything._

* * *

When Soul regains consciousness, he expects to be in the forest, or inside the mine, surrounded by cultists. Instead, when he opens his eyes, the familiar sight of Black Star’s apartment greets him, and he realizes that they must have gone after him. It strikes something in him, and for the first time in three years, he finds himself fighting back tears.

“I think he’s waking up.” Kid’s voice comes from the side of him, and his head pops into his vision, brows furrowed together.

“Hey,” Soul croaks. The vague feeling of unreality wraps around him as he feels around himself, and comes to the conclusion that he’s lying on their couch. “Did I miss anything?”

Relief crosses Kid’s face as both Maka and Black Star join him. “How are you feeling?” asks Maka, reaching out to touch his forehead, which he now realizes is wrapped in a tight bandage.

“Like I banged my head against a tree root.” He attempts to sit up, a move his body immediately rejects. Even though, it was only his head that hit the root, he feels like he ran a marathon, and then got hit by a freight train. In his mind, the voice from the mines continues to echo, calling him back to the forest.

“Here.” Maka’s voice brings him back, and she helps him up, sliding a pillow behind him. She takes a seat next to him, while Black Star takes the armchair closest to Soul and Kid leans against the arm rest. “Better?”

He nods, because what’s wrong with him isn’t something anyone can help with. There’s a brief silence as they go from staring at each other to looking away. Deciding to break the stalemate, Soul goes with the easiest question, “How did you find me?”

Maka is the one to answer. “Black Star messaged me when you weren’t answering his or Kid’s texts,” she says. “I went to check on you, but I couldn’t find you. Then, I saw the path leading to the mines, and put two and two together.”

Blinking, Soul tries to keep the surprise from showing on his face. He wouldn’t have thought she would go back to check on him after what happened, but it’s something he can examine later. He clears his throat, his mouth feeling like sandpaper. “Where did you find me?”

“We went all the way to the mines,” Kid says. “Through the woods, because we weren’t sure if you were taking the direct route.”

Black Star jumps in. “Well, almost all the way to the mines. We saw these guys in cloaks surrounding a dude on the ground,” he says. “We overheard their conversation. I think they called him Beade or something like that.”

“I saw that, too.” Soul grimaces as he reaches up to scratch his face, and finds that the side of his face is bandaged again-the cut he got when he returned home must have reopened. Shoving away the pain, he says, “Beade was the one that dropped the arm in town.”

“Idiot,” Black Star snorts as Kid says, “Maka saw you around the same time the others did.”

Soul looks sharply at Maka, relieved when he doesn’t spot any injuries on her, and then to Kid and Black Star. “Did they see you?”

“Not until the end,” answers Maka. “I threw a rock at the person that tried to shoot you, and then Black Star created a distraction so we could get you out of there.”

“The good ol’ Excalibur call,” Black Star says proudly. “People still respond to it, even when they’re drunker than a fish in a barrel full of vodka.”

“I guess I should thank Excalibur sometime then.” He looks at all of them again, feeling the same lump in his throat as he did when he woke up. There is still a fog in his head, but it clears temporarily. “Thank you for coming after me. I know I’ve been...difficult.”

“Dude, just because you’re difficult and an occasional asshole doesn’t mean we’re just gonna ditch you,” says Black Star. “Plus, now you know what you’ve been seeing this week wasn’t a ghost.” He reaches out to slap Soul on the shoulder, which makes him wince and earns Black Star a glare from Maka.

“Yes, but now there is the fact that we apparently live in a town full of cultists,” Kid interjects. “And I find that infinitely more concerning than ghosts.”

“I’d prefer if it was ghosts,” says Black Star. His face scrunches up as he thinks. “What was it that they said they sacrificed people to?”

“The Black Goat,” Kid answers. “I’ve never heard of it before.”

At the mention of the Black Goat, the voice in Soul’s head seems to swell, and he feels heat like a fever under his skin. If he could, he’d get up and go back to the forest, in spite of everything, but he doesn’t think he could even rise from the couch.

“I read a story once that featured the Black Goat,” Maka says thoughtfully. “I think they were called one of the Great Old Ones.”

“So, we have a cult of people that are sacrificing people to a fictional character,” says Black Star, eyes darting from Maka to Kid and Soul. “Which means they’re delusional, in addition to being murderers.”

“What do we do?” asks Kid after a moment of silence. “Call the police?”

Maka shakes her head. “We don’t know if we can trust them.”

Soul speaks up. “I didn’t hear Marie’s voice,” he says. “I know they were wearing hoods and one person had a mask on, but from what I could see, none of them looked like her either.”

“Even if Marie isn’t a part of it, there’s no telling if one of the people she asks to help out at the station is a cult member,” Maka answers. “I counted about a dozen people out there, but we have no way of knowing if we saw the entire cult or not.”

“I think they said their numbers were getting smaller.” He strains to remember what he can, but the memories slip through his fingers like water. “But you’re right.”

“How long have they been doing this?” Black Star asks. He looks as exhausted as Soul feels. “Why are they doing this?”

Kid takes his hand, rubbing the back of it, while Maka answers. “They mentioned the storm five years ago, so for at least that long,” she says. “Although the way they talked about it, I think they’ve been doing it for much longer.” A disgusted look crosses her face. “I think that they think the Black Goat is keeping the town alive, but even if that were true, this isn’t the way to do it.”

Black Star wears a similar expression of disgust. “It could have been going on our entire lives and we would have never noticed.”

A horrible realization dawns on Soul the moment he says that. “What about Jackie?” he says abruptly. “And that other girl, Meme?”

The tension in the room tightens as his words sink in, along with the implication. Black Star is the first to react, ripping his hand out of Kid’s grasp as he jumps to his feet. “That’s impossible,” he says, but it’s with the desperate conviction of someone who doesn’t want to acknowledge the truth of what he’s hearing. “Jackie ran away.”

“She never left a note,” Maka says. “And she never answered my messages either.”

“Or mine,” Kid replies. “Her parents are still insisting that she wouldn’t have run away.”

Black Star still insists, however. “But we don’t know what actually could have-”

“That’s right, we don’t know,” Kid agrees. “And the longer we go without knowing, the more likely it is that she _was_ taken by the cult.” 

The stubbornness on Black Star’s face persists, but then it crumples as he deflates, sinking back into his chair, head in his hands. “Do you think she was waiting for someone to come help her?”

Kid loops an arm around his shoulders while Maka speaks. “It’s not good to think about that,” she says, although her voice quavers. “Or anything else like that.”

Black Star lifts his head. “Doesn’t keep it from being true, though.”

There’s a grimness in the silence that follows, tainted with a frustrating kind of helplessness, because there is nothing any of them can say that will make the situation better. In Soul’s head, the voice is swelling to a crescendo, a bleak melody underlying its lament. He speaks so he doesn’t have to listen to it in silence.

“So, we’re back to where we were before,” he says, straightening even though it takes nearly all of his strength. “What are we going to do?”

“Going to the police is out,” Kid answers. “Unless we go to the police in Eibon, or somewhere else.”

“And what if they’re in on it, too?” Maka replies. “The towns aren’t that far apart. Besides, what proof do we have?”

“We can tell them what we heard.” Black Star rubs his face, shaking out his hair. 

“Because that will work out so well.” She crosses her arms. “We don’t even know _who_ these people are, much less how they’re killing.”

“But we did hear the name of one of them,” says Kid. “Beade, wasn’t it?”

She gives a shake of her head. “I already looked up the name. There’s no one by the name of Beade, or anything close to it in town, or in any of the neighboring towns. They have to be using fake names.”

“Okay well, we do know they’re doing their stuff in the mines.” Black Star gestures towards outside. “Otherwise, why would they have been gathered there?”

“If we tell the police that, they’re going to laugh in our faces.” Maka pushes her hair out of her face, pressing a hand to the side of her head. When she moves her head towards the light, the circles under her eyes grow more apparent. “And all we’ll have done is alert the cultists _and_ put a bigger target on our backs.”

Her words send a ripple of unease through Soul, reflecting back at him from Kid and Black Star’s expressions. “Do you think we should leave?” Black Star asks, exchanging a look with Kid. “What if they’re coming now?”

Hesitation crosses Maka’s face. “I don’t think so,” she says finally. “It’s been almost two hours since we left the forest. If they had tracked us from there, they probably would have done something by now.”

Black Star relaxes slightly, but there is still a tense look on Kid’s face. “They saw us in the forest,” he says. “They know what we look like, and if there are any members who know us, then they know our names and where we live.”

Nausea roils in Soul’s stomach; if he hadn’t opened his mouth yesterday, none of them would be worrying about cults or masked figures. “The only one they know was at the mines was me,” he says. “And I’m probably the only one they really got a good look at, so if I leave now, they won’t be able to question me about who was also in the woods.”

Maka gives him a sharp look, but in her eyes, there’s fear and something else. “That’s not happening either.”

“Plus, if you’ve ever seen those crime shows, they always come after friends and family,” adds Kid. “So, you leaving wouldn’t do much anyways.”

“That’s very...helpful,” Maka says in a strained voice. Glancing at her phone, she says, “Why don’t we save this part of discussion for morning? Soul needs to rest, and we might be able to think of something better with clear heads.”

“I’ll let my parents know I’m staying over again. They’re going to drag me to the emergency room if they see me like this.” The receding fog has come back, flooding Soul’s head again and making everything feel vaguely unreal, even as he tries to push it away. Meanwhile, the voice continues to echo, though it’s softened to a hum. 

“They care about you.” Maka frowns as she reaches over and adjusts the bandage around his forehead. “I only learned basic bandaging in that CPR class I took so you probably should see a doctor. I have no idea how to tell if you have a concussion or not.”

“I remember you saying I had a hard head once.” He flinches slightly, although it’s more from the touch of her fingers than the pain.

“Figuratively,” she says, rolling her eyes. Pulling back, she stands up. Her boots and tights are stained with patches of dirt, while her skirt, jacket and shirt are clean. “I guess I’ll come back here tomorrow.”

“You’re going?” asks Soul before he can think better of it. “What about the super dangerous cult that’s looking for us?”

“It’s going to be more dangerous for them than me if they try to ambush me while I have my toolkit,” she says, a yawn bubbling on her lips. She covers her mouth, speaking around the yawn. “Plus, I really need a shower.”

“We have a shower here last time I checked,” Black Star points out. Before Maka can shoot him down, he says, “C’mon, it’ll be better if we’re all here together, instead of being separated.”

“He’s right,” Soul interjects. “I’ll move so you can have the couch again.”

Maka blinks as she looks at Soul, a whole array of emotions sweeping across her face in an instant, far too fast for him to make out any single one. She doesn’t look like she’s going to agree, but she shrugs after a moment. “My dad doesn’t care where I go anymore anyways,” she says. “Might as well stick it out another night.”

“Alright.” Black Star gets to his feet again, gesturing to the hallway that leads to the apartment’s rooms. “You can take the guest bathroom.”

“And I will take ours,” says Kid, rising from the arm rest as Maka disappears down the hallway. He looks at Soul. “You can take the bathroom after Maka, if you’d like.”

“I think if I move any more than from here to that chair,” he answers, pointing to the armchair Black Star just vacated. “I’m going to turn into spaghetti.”

“That’s unpleasant.” Kid frowns for a moment, thinking. “I’ll get you a few baby wipes from the kitchen,” he says. “At least it’ll get off some of the dirt still on you.”

Soul looks down at himself with great effort as Kid walks away, the lightheadedness wrapping around his head increasing as he does. The shirt and pants Black Star let him borrow are ripped and covered in dirt, all but unsalvageable. “Shit,” he says. “Sorry.”

“They were getting old.” Black Star waves a hand, taking a seat on the corner of the coffee table by Soul, something that makes Kid purse his lips when he reenters the living room, though he doesn’t comment on it.

“I brought the whole package, just in case,” he says, holding it out to Soul. “Please use as many as you need.”

“I will.” Soul manages to take the package of wipes from Kid without betraying how weak he is, although his arm and hand are shaking so badly he isn’t sure how he’s going to open the package. He finally notices the bandages on his fingers as he sets the package on his lap; the still-healing cuts burn from underneath the bandages, and he figures some of them most have opened up again.

Meanwhile, Black Star and Kid are watching his clumsy and awkward struggle to get the wipes from Kid’s hand to his lap. “Yeah, you need help,” says Black Star after a moment of Soul attempting to open the package. “Don’t move too much.”

“That’s not a problem,” he replies as Black Star takes a wipe and begins brushing at his face with more care than he would expect.

“Talking counts as moving,” says Black Star. He glances at Kid. “You can go shower if you want, I’ll be there in a minute.”

Kid wavers. “If you’re sure.”

“Very.” Black Star pauses in the slow assault of Soul’s face to tilt his head up as Kid bends down to kiss him.

Kid’s face has a faint flush to it as he straightens. He gives Soul a nod. “Good night.”

Soul gives a feeble wave of his fingers as Kid leaves the room. “You two should get married already.”

“We were planning to do it as soon as we moved,” answers Black Star. “But Kid wants me to get my natural hair color back for the wedding photos, and he refuses to let me shave my head.”

“It’ll get there eventually,” he says, attempting not to wince as Black Star moves to his forehead, which is starting to throb. “Do you even know what that looks like?”

“Not soon enough, and probably not as cool as my colors right now.” Black Star moves the wipe away from his forehead, giving his chin a final swipe and tossing the wipe onto the table. “But we’re still working on him being comfortable enough with PDA for a wedding kiss. I think right now was an improvement, but it’s still a hang-up he has from his brother.”

He catches Soul’s expression and says quickly, “Kid told me about what he said to you in the cemetery. It’s the first time he brought it up with someone other than me, or his therapist, so it’s a good thing you know, actually.”

“We can also talk about how to egg his brother’s car without getting caught,” Soul says, recovering from his surprise fairly rapidly. “And maybe his house, too.”

“That would be a Christmas, birthday, and wedding gift rolled up into one,” replies Black Star with a slightly dreamy sigh. “But there are more important things to talk about.” He jabs the air next to Soul’s shoulder. “You’ve gotta be the best man. No excuses.”

“I’d be offended if you didn’t ask me.”

“Good.” He sits back. “Maka is going to be the maid of honor. To be fair, we were going to have her share duties with-”

He breaks off, and Soul finishes the sentence for him. “Jackie.”

“Yeah.” 

The warm feeling in the air deflates as Black Star and Soul look away from each other. In Soul’s head, the voice seems to come forward from where it had settled in the back of his mind. The urge to get up and return to the forest surfaces again, and he clenches his hands against it.

He’s relieved when Black Star breaks the silence. “Do you think it’s true?”

“I don’t know.” He is glad Black Star didn’t say it directly, what they’re all imagining happened to Jackie, because he’s not sure he would have been able to handle that. “I think Kid said it best.”

“She could just be enjoying her life.” Black Star’s protest is feeble, and said without much conviction. “No offense, but you disappeared off the face of the Earth for three years and you came back.”

Shame adds itself to the growing whirlwind of emotions in Soul’s head. “But my family didn’t report me missing.”

“Oh.” Black Star’s shoulders slump. He looks at the floor at his feet. “Right.”

Guilt prods at Soul to say something comforting, even if he doesn’t feel it. “If she shows up one day and says she went to California or wherever, we’ll all eat our words,” he says. “But if that’s not true, it’ll hurt more if we shut out the other possibilities until we know.”

There’s a long pause, and then Black Star exhales loudly. “I guess,” he says, looking up at Soul. “It’s just hard to think about her not existing anymore.”

“I know what you mean.” Soul plunges into the next sentence without thinking too much about it. “When I was little, we used to spend our summers at my grandma’s, and I used to think it was always going to be that way. Then she moved up here, and I thought it was always going to be that way, and then it wasn’t.”

“I remember that,” says Black Star. There’s a slight wariness in his voice, since it had been made clear to everyone after she died that Grandma Evans was a taboo subject. “She taught you how to play piano, didn’t she?”

“The beginnings of it.” The weight of Grandma Evans in his mind is heavy, but it’s not quite unbearable. “She picked it up from my grandfather, I think.”

“That’s something that didn’t die with her, then.” His face freezes as soon as the words leave his mouth, but Soul shrugs in agreement.

“I guess that’s a nice way of seeing it.” He catches a glimpse of someone hovering in the hallway, and figures Kid came back to check on Black Star. With the greatest effort he’s given since he woke up, he rises from the couch, and a huge wave of dizziness sweeps over him.

“A little warning, dude!” Black Star scrambles to his feet, helping guide Soul to the armchair. It’s easier to move once he’s in motion, so long as he doesn’t stop, although he moves about as fast as a baby learning how to walk.

When he sinks into his chair, he lets out a groan, nearly all of the energy he had mustered gone. “Thanks.”

“Sure thing.” Rubbing his face, Black Star looks at him with bleary eyes. “Think I’m gonna follow the others and try to get some rest. Sorry we don’t have an actual bed in the guest bedroom for you.”

“In college, you learn to sleep everywhere,” Soul answers, waving a hand. “Go sleep, dude.”

“Same to you,” Black Star says around a giant yawn, heading for the hallway just as Maka steps out. Her hair is damp, loose around her shoulders, and her face has a freshly scrubbed look, faintly pink. With no pajamas, she obviously had no choice but to put her clothes back on, though she is barefoot and carries her tights in her hand.

“I never knew that the water heats up here so fast,” she says as she pads over to the couch, taking the seat closer to Soul’s chair. “It takes forever for the water to warm up at home.”

“Perks of living in the best apartment building in Shibunsen Springs,” says Black Star. “The neighbors aren’t as great, though.”

“I’d take noisy and annoying neighbors over cold water and broken heaters any day.” Maka tugs the blankets she used last night from the back of the couch to her lap. “Maybe you can give me this place when you and Kid move to South Harbor.”

“I don’t think it works that way,” he answers. “But I could let you know when they’re going to list the apartment if you want.”

“Please do.” Maka finishes arranging the blankets, glancing up. “I think a change of pace would be nice for me.”

“You got it.” Black Star gives her a salute, and nods at Soul. “See you in the morning.”

“You’re really thinking of moving?” asks Soul before an awkward silence can descend upon the room. A nervousness different than the anxiety running through his body takes over as he glances in her direction.

“Yeah, I think so,” Maka says, not quite looking at him, although she slants in his direction. “I mean, it’s close enough that I can still keep an eye on my dad if he needs anything, but I can live my life the way I want to.”

As soon as the words leave her lips, her eyes widen and she says in a rush, “It’s like you said before, people can only carry other people for so long, and I’ve given him too many chances to change.”

“It makes sense,” he says when she finally looks at him. “Though you don’t have to justify doing what’s best for you.”

Some of the guilt leaches from her expression as she nods, playing with a loose thread in her blanket. “Yeah, I guess you’re right,” she says. “Thanks.”

Even as a delicate kind of equilibrium settles over them, the knots of nerves in Soul’s stomach refuses to allow him to be satisfied with the fact that Maka is talking to him more or less normally again. His heartbeat pounds in his ears as he struggles to find the best way to bring it up, before he realizes there is no good way to bring it up.

Instead of continuing to agonize internally, he decides to do what he’s done for the majority of his life and wing it, letting out a breath before he speaks. “I wanted to talk about what happened earlier.”

He starts to flounder as soon as her gaze meets his. “And you know, everything else,” he gestures awkwardly to nothing, “that happened before.” In a rush, he adds, “I don’t want to keep hurting you, or my family and friends, or anyone else. And I don’t want to keep creating messes that you, or they, have to clean up.”

Instead of cutting him off, Maka is quiet for a long moment. “We do,” she says finally. “But there are more important things going on, so I don’t think that now is the right time to have that conversation.”

But Soul shakes his head. He’s sick of things happening that suspend this conversation, either because he catalyzed the interruption, or it’s something from the fallout of being gone for so long, or just the universe spinning out his misery, and then the moment for talking is gone and they shunt their feelings to the side. “You’re more important.”

She raises an eyebrow, although the surprise on her face is genuine. “I’m more important than a death cult that’s been part of our town for years?”

“Much more important than a dozen people playing out their version of Dungeons and Dragons in real life,” he says, mostly to get her to smile, which she does, briefly but undeniably. He pauses. “The most important.”

Part of him wants to die for being so honest without anything to shield him from her reaction, but he didn’t figuratively rip himself apart, and somewhat put himself back together, under Stein’s supervision for nothing.

Maka’s face turns pinker than it already was as she looks down at her feet, then back up at him. “Okay.” Her voice is soft. “I’m listening.”

Opening his mouth, Soul immediately closes it, hesitating. He doesn’t want to guess at what hurts her the most. “Where do you want to start?”

She answers more quickly than he would have expected. “Right before the show, you started shutting down,” she says. Something twists on her face. “I thought it was nerves mixing with the grief.”

“It was, in a way,” he agrees, swallowing. The voice dwelling in the corners of his head croons as he thinks; its melody almost sounds like a countdown, but he forces his thoughts away from it. “Everything got worse after she died,” he says after a moment, working hard to focus. “Everyone was giving their condolences and talking about her, and all I could think about was how nothing seemed real.

“Sometimes, things became clear,” he continues. “And that was worse. I signed up for the show during one of those times.” He braces himself as the memories from then surface. “Then the show happened.”

Maka gives a small nod. “You don’t have to talk about that if you don’t want to.”

“It’s not as bad to think about,” he says, which he is surprised to find is true. He thinks for several moments about how to describe the show and the immediate aftermath of his attack on Hiro. “It was like my mind broke,” he says at last. “Or, more like reality broke. One minute, I was trying not to have a panic attack, and the next, everything became blood, and when I came out of it, there was actual blood.

“It felt like I died.” This part he has to get out quickly, or he won’t say it-he’s never even said it to Stein. “Not just a part of me, but everything. And I didn’t know why, only that there had always been something wrong with my head.”

Next to him, he can feel Maka watching him, waiting.

“I didn’t feel like I deserved to be around anyone, or to ask for people to be with me.” He wants to look up as he finally answers the questions she lobbed at him at the train station, but he continues to stare at his hands instead. “My parents and Wes were the only people I couldn’t shut out, but that was because they lived with me. I barely spoke to them when I went to college.”

“Your mother told me the same thing when I went into Gorgon Mart once a couple years ago,” she says in the quiet that follows. “She asked me if you and I were still talking.”

“She didn’t know about what happened at the station,” he says. “I never told anyone about it.”

“Neither did I.” There’s a soft rustling as she shifts closer to him. “Is that why you said what you did at the station?” she asks, a vulnerability in her voice that he hasn’t heard in a long time.

“I didn’t want to care about anything, and I didn’t want anyone to care about me.” He does lift his head now, although he still can’t quite look her in the eyes. “So, I said what I had to so I would be left alone.

“It was probably one of the worst decisions I’ve ever made,” he says. “And that’s saying something.”

Maka processes all of this in silence, but when she speaks, she only says, “And after?”

“Lots of having my mind prodded at by people in lab coats with clipboards.” This part is easier to talk about. “I finally found one that wasn’t so bad, and I worked through a lot, but it kinda fell apart when I went to college.”

Her eyes are as intent as when she’s in the middle of a book, but she says nothing.

“It’s a pattern that continued when I returned,” he says with a shrug. “Caring and acting like it were hard to get to, and I lost it in college. And then everything was different when I came back, and I just wanted to act like it wasn’t, and that fell apart, too.”

A long silence trails after his words; the voice and its song returns to the forefront of his mind, and he lets it stay there, too tired to keep pushing it back.

“Are you done?” she asks quietly after another moment.

He shakes his head, because this is the most important part. “I want to do better and be better, for you, me, and everyone,” he says. “I’m sorry for what I said to you when I left and what I said tonight, and for leaving and not talking to you until I came back, and for stealing the nail polish at the mall, and breaking the boiler-”

Breaking off, he thinks, searching for anything he missed, when Maka leans towards him and grabs his hand. He is still too weak to resist any kind of force, so it’s easy for her to pull him forward.

Her other hand cradles the side of his face as Maka studies him, her own so close that he has no choice but to look her in the eyes. “You don’t have to list out everything you did to apologize, you know,” she tells him, before she kisses him again.

Like before, Soul is completely unprepared, but this time he reacts more quickly, kissing her back with as much intensity as she’s kissing him, cupping his hand around the side of her neck.

They’re both breathing hard when they pull away, though Maka keeps a firm grip on his hand. He blinks a few times, the lightheaded feeling sweeping through his head not entirely because of their kiss, and tries to think through what people might say after their first proper kiss.

“That was very nice,” he says finally.

Maka makes no attempt to hide her grin. “We should do it again sometime,” she agrees, eyes tracing over his face. Her smile dims slightly. “But maybe when you don’t look like you’re going to collapse.”

“I feel perfectly fine,” he says, even as the world starts to sway lazily in front of him, and the voice continues to tug at him. “I bet I could run a marathon.”

She rolls her eyes, intertwining her fingers with his. “Let’s not do that,” she says, leaning forward again to press a light kiss to his mouth. “Let’s sleep instead.”

He frowns, but gives in. “Fine.”

“Excellent.” Maka doesn’t let go of his hand, reaching over with her other hand to switch off the console that controls the living room’s lights. Then, she lays her head on the arm rest, letting their hands dangle together in the space between them.

Soul does the same thing, rubbing small circles on the back of her hand with his thumb. This wasn’t everything, but it was possibly the start of something. They watch each other in the dark, Maka’s eyes turning silver in the moonlight streaming from the window, until she yawns.

She tightens her hold on him as she closes her eyes. “Good night.”

“Night.” He closes his eyes too, even as the voice in his head swells in the silence. Sleep comes for him quickly, to his relief, and he shoves the voice away as much as is possible.

Squeezing Maka’s hand, he decides he can ignore it, the woods, the mines, and everything else until morning.

* * *

But when the voice wakes him up less than an hour later, so loud that he feels like he’s shaking from the force of it, he can’t ignore it. His mind is clear, even though the rest of his body feels like it’s on the verge of giving out as he gets up from the chair, pulling his hand free of Maka’s loose grip.

He finds the keys to Kid and Black Star’s car in the kitchen, moving in a slow hobble across the apartment and to the door. There, he hesitates, but the melody of the voice rises, and he only listens to make sure he’s woken no one up before he leaves.

His bike is in the trunk where Kid had put it last night. Briefly, he contemplates taking the car instead as he hauls out the bike with difficulty, panting as he sets in on the ground, but he doesn’t want to create a bigger problem than he already is.

 _More messes,_ he thinks sourly as he limps out of the garage with the bike. But he can’t live with shadows following him and voices from unseen things echoing in his head forever. He’s winded by the time he gets to the corner of the street, and he stops to catch his breath. On an impulse, he takes out his phone and messages Stein.

_[2:51 am] Soul: hey doc i know you’re probably sleeping but i wanted to let you know that i figured it out_

_[2:52 am] Stein: You figured what out?_

_[2:52 am] Soul: shit you really don’t sleep do you_

_[2:52 am] Soul: i figured out what was keeping me stuck_

_[2:52 am] Soul: to absolutely no ones surprise it was me_

_[2:53 am] Stein: Congratulations on becoming more reflective. May I ask why you came to this epiphany at 3 am?_

_[2:54 am] Soul: a lot of things doc most of them unpleasant but a couple that weren’t_

_[2:54 am] Soul: i just wanted to say thank you._

_[2:54 am] Stein: When people try to thank me in the early hours of the morning, it usually comes off more as a goodbye._

_[2:55 am] Soul: im not gonna off myself doc don’t worry_

_[2:55 am] Stein: I’ll trust you on that, but I have to ask if you’re planning on doing anything dangerous._

_[2:55 am] Soul: just a little field trip to the mines_

_[2:55 am] Soul: see you around doc_

Putting his phone back in his pocket, Soul gets onto the bike and starts his trek to the mines.

* * *

In his office seventy miles away, Stein stares at his screen, waiting for Soul to reply to his message. When ten minutes go by, he takes off his glasses and rubs his face. There had been a lot of ups and downs since he met Soul in the hospital, and he’s not quite sure how to classify this latest series of messages.

He waits for another five minutes, and then he searches for his phone.

* * *

Maka doesn’t panic when she wakes up and Soul is no longer holding her hand. With her eyes still closed, she feels for her phone in her jacket, bringing it to her face and pushing the button on the side.

It’s a little past three-thirty, which means she can sleep for many more hours, and she tosses the phone unceremoniously on the couch, remembering belatedly that Soul is sleeping in the armchair right next to her.

She opens her eyes again, searching for his outline in the dark. Her heart starts to beat a little faster when she sees the chair is empty, but she keeps her mind from jumping to conclusions, sitting up and looking towards the kitchen.

Like the living room, it is dark and empty, and Maka gets up from the couch, still listening to the voice that’s telling her to stay calm. She grabs her phone again, rattling off a message to Soul before she realizes he might be in the office bathroom. Making her way to the guest bedroom, she tries to stay as quiet as possible as she enters. There is no light coming from the bathroom, but she hopes that Soul is so sleep deprived he forgot to turn on the light.

However, when she pushes her hand and ear against the door, it falls open easily, just as empty as the living room and kitchen.

Maka’s heart is somewhere in her throat when her phone lights up.

_[3:42 am] Soul: im sorry for leaving please don’t think im messing up again_

Her hands shake slightly from relief as she reads Soul’s message, and she takes a deep breath before answering.

_[3:43 am] Maka: I didn’t think that, I’m worried about you. Where are you?_

_[3:43 am] Soul: i can’t say_

_[3:43 am] Maka: The mines, then._

_[3:45 am] Maka: Why?_

_[3:46 am] Soul: i want to deal with this without you black star or kid getting hurt_

_[3:46 am] Maka: By giving yourself over to the cult???_

_[3:47 am] Soul: theres something else there i know that sounds crazy but i can feel it calling me_

_[3:48 am] Maka: After today, I don’t think anything can fall under the realm of crazy._

_[3:48 am] Maka: Come home. If you’re worried we won’t believe you, that’s not true. We can deal with this together._

_[3:49 am] Soul: i know that but i care about you being safe more_

_[3:49 am] Soul: i gotta go_

Maka stares down at the phone for a moment before her mind starts to work again. “Shit.”

Then, she springs into action, striding to Black Star and Kid’s room.

* * *

Soul shuts off his phone to keep himself from seeing Maka’s response, breathing hard as the outline of the mining station stretches out in front of him. He’s slightly impressed with himself for managing to bike all the way out to the mines in his condition, although fatigue hits him now that the adrenaline is gone.

Sucking in a breath, he drops his bike at the edge of the makeshift parking lot from earlier. It’d be too hard to manage the bike on the dirt path, and besides, he doesn’t have enough energy to pedal anymore. There are no cars at the station anymore, and the lights and music coming from the auditorium before are now absent, turning the mines back into a ghostland.

The voice is his companion as he makes his way to the dirt path that will take him to the mining entrance. It had dimmed when he arrived at the station and seen Maka’s message, but it’s back now, guiding him forward. But his body, exhausted and stretched thin, can only obey the voice so much, and just after he’s made it past the halfway point on the path, he feels his legs crumple under him. Gravel presses indents in his face as he lands face first on the ground.

He stays like that for a moment, and then he grits his teeth, forcing himself to roll onto his back. The stars wink into existence as he stares up at the sky, and his words come out as a wheeze. “Help me.”

But like every other day, the stars are silent, and he gulps down big breaths, struggling to summon enough energy to get up. After a while, he starts to feel less like he’s on the verge of dying, and he wrenches his body into a sitting position.

The world spins like a kaleidoscope; he screws his eyes shut for a few seconds, and opens them again to find it spinning a little less. It’s as good as he can ask for, so he plants his hands on the ground, and pushes himself onto his feet.

He balances unsteadily for a few moments, pleased when he doesn’t fall back down. “Not bad.”

He doesn’t fall when he takes a cautious step forward either, which gives him a boost of confidence. However, he does feel like he’s going to lose his balance every time he lifts his foot from the ground, though that never happens.

However, when he’s almost at the mine’s entrance, he spies the masked figure that nearly caught him earlier.

A groan escapes from Soul’s mouth. “Please go away.”

The cultist does not do that, stalking forward like a predator. Soul does his best to hobble off the path as quickly as he can, but he remembers what the figure said to the other cultists, and the way he moved through solid objects like smoke.

 _There’s no way you can outrun this,_ a voice in his head screams at him as he attempts to move faster, but he has no other choice. He forces himself into a weird jog, dodging branches, rocks, and roots as best as he can.

He risks a glance behind him as he steps over a rock, surprise running through him when he sees the figure is no longer stalking him. It’s too much to hope that he simply disappeared off the face of the earth forever, but Soul still hopes as he slows his pace, turning his direction parallel to the path.

The cultist is standing right in front of him.

A pit forms at the bottom of Soul’s stomach. He tries to back up, but finds himself pressed against a tree. “Hi.”

The skull mask that covers the cultist’s face wears a mockery of a smile as he moves closer to Soul, a hand stretching out towards him.

However, before the cultist reaches him, there’s a hiss as something sails through the air, and sinks into his arm. From behind the mask, the cultist lets out an enraged howl as Black Star’s yell fills the forest. “There’s more where that came from!”

He and Maka burst through the foliage while Kid follows behind, calmly slotting another bolt into the crossbow he carries. Soul thinks he’s dreaming until Maka reaches him, throwing her arms around him in a fierce hug while Black Star thumps his shoulder.

“What the hell were you thinking, dude?” he asks when Maka releases him.

“I wasn’t,” Soul answers, although he isn’t entirely focused, casting a look at the area around him. “Where’s the cultist?”

“He must have ran off when I hit him with my crossbow,” says Kid, lowering the weapon to his side. “Which was a wise decision.”

“Where did you get a crossbow?” Soul asks him. From what he remembered, Kid hated harming even spiders. “How do you know how to use one?”

“It was the one good thing my brother taught me,” he replies. “And I bought it on eBay, but I hadn’t had the chance to test it out yet.”

Still flabbergasted, Soul looks down at Maka and Black Star’s hands. She’s holding the wooden staff Black Star bought for a Halloween costume once, and he has the blue switchblade he used for Knife Fight.

“We didn’t know how we were going to find you,” Maka says, answering his unspoken question. 

“And if you’re really set on doing this, you might as well be prepared,” adds Black Star, pulling the red switchblade from his pocket and prodding it into his hand. “Though I am begging for you to have your next existential crisis during the day, dude.”

“And after work hours,” says Kid.

But Soul shakes his head. “The reason I left like I did was so you wouldn’t come.”

“Well, that was a mistake,” Maka replies, giving him a look. “We’re willing to forgive you for it, though.”

“It’s dangerous,” he says after a moment of looking at their faces.

“Then, we go back and wait until the police station is open to go to Marie,” Kid says with a shrug. “We’re going to have to trust someone eventually.”

The voice is tugging at him again, more insistently than before. “It can’t wait till then.”

“Either we all go, or none of us do,” Black Star says. “Your choice, dude.”

“It’s no choice at all,” he grumbles, although he’s more than relieved that he doesn’t have to enter the mines alone. “Let’s go.”

The air turns tense when the mines come into view, and they come to a stop in front of the entrance.

“If worse comes to worst, I can call Marie’s cell phone,” says Maka when none of them speak. “She’ll know who to call.”

“Shouldn’t we just call her now?” Black Star asks.

“And if there was no one else here but that cultist?” she asks. “It’ll create more problems than it’ll solve.”

“C’mon,” Soul says suddenly as he studies the entrance. He swears he can not only hear the voice in his head, but also ringing distantly from the depths of the mines.

He doesn’t wait for any of them to answer, plunging into the mine. There is nothing but darkness, the lamps that used to line the mine’s walls long dead, but a beam of light comes from behind him.

Kid lifts the flashlight out of Soul’s face as he turns. “Always be prepared.”

“Good idea,” he says, twisting back around.

He and Kid take the lead, while Maka and Black Star follow, the passageway of the mine too narrow for more than two people. They walk for a short distance, and then they come to the main elevator shaft that leads underground.

“I read up on the mines a while back,” says Maka, examining the lever next to the elevator. “The elevators run on solar-powered generators so they should still work.”

“One way to find out.” Black Star puts his knife in his pocket, and takes hold of the lever. “Get on.”

They cram onto the elevator, Soul and Maka squashed in towards the back. She catches hold of his hand as Black Star checks to make sure they’re all in, rubbing the back of his hand like he did with her earlier. It marginally calms the growing pit of anxiety gnawing at his stomach, and he squeezes her hand back as Black Star pulls the lever.

It takes several moments for Black Star to yank the lever all the way down, and another for the elevator to come to life, groaning as it starts to move slowly. Kid helps Black Star in, and together, they watch the main passageway of the mine disappear.

“Well, that’s that,” says Kid when the passageway is completely gone, tilting the flashlight up so it illuminates the entire elevator. He glances at the others. “Hope no one is claustrophobic.”

A nervous giggle comes from Maka while Black Star says, “I think that’s the least of our problems.”

Soul squeezes her hand again, and she looks at him, letting out a breath as she does. The worry on her face seems to settle slightly.

The wall in front of them opens up to the next floor, and the others look at Soul as he listens to the darkness. He leans back; the voice seems to be coming from further below. “Not this one.”

It takes another two floors before Soul hears the voice emanating clearly from the darkness of the fourth. “Here.”

Kid aims the flashlight down the corridor, revealing another elevator several dozen feet away at the other end. There are other tunnels that split off from the main corridor, but after a second of listening, Soul points to the elevator.

“Great,” Black Star groans as they leave the elevator and march across, piling into the much smaller elevator. “Are you sure it’s not the devil trying to get in contact with you, dude?”

Maka aims a glare at him. “Not funny.”

“Someone has to make the jokes,” he rejoins as the elevator starts to move, much more slowly than the first. It only goes down a short distance before coming to a stop.

The stone tunnel in front of them has a much more ancient feel to it than the corridors above, not reinforced by any wires, ropes, or wooden beams. There’s not even the remnants of the lanterns that hang everywhere else in the mine.

But what Soul can hear as he steps out of the elevator is the song of the voice, melancholy and endless. It draws him forward like his body is looped with marionette strings, his hand escaping Maka’s grasp.

He moves forward in spite of the exhaustion pressing down on his bones, despite how much his mind just wants to stop and not think for a very long time, maybe forever. The voice leads him on, and he would follow it to wherever it led, if only it would just _stop_.

“I wouldn’t go another step, if I were you.”

A red light shines squarely in Soul’s face, forcing him to a stop and shaking him out of the trance he’d fallen into. He looks up, spotting hooded figures staring back at him just as Maka, Black Star, and Kid catch up, fanning out next to him.

He registers a gasp coming from one of them as Maka clamps her hand around his arm, dragging him back. “Look,” she says.

Glancing at her, he sees she’s pointing at something, and he follows the direction of her finger, eyes widening as his gaze falls on a narrow pit opening up to darkness at their feet.

Horror sweeps through him as he peers down into the pit, unable to see the bottom. “What is that?”

“The home of the Black Goat.” The figure that warned Soul answers him. He steps forward from the group of hooded figures gathered on the other side of the pit. Like Maka had guessed, there are much more than a dozen cultists down here. “The Hole at the End of Everything.”

“That’s a pretty stupid name,” snorts Black Star, which causes several cultists to hiss.

The cultist that spoke first raises a hand and the others fall silent. “We ask that you do not insult the Black Goat in our presence or anywhere in the mines,” he says. “Especially when it is Its generosity that keeps our town alive.”

“Why have you been calling me from inside my head?” Soul interrupts, ripping his gaze from the pit. He feels more and more sick the longer they’re down here. “Why have you been stalking me?”

There is confusion in the cultist’s voice as he answers. “The Black Goat grants special abilities to a few of our members, as it has since the days of our founder Ed Skudder, but it has never allowed us to commune with other people,” he says. “As for you being followed, one of our members allowed their emotions to get a little out of hand, and for that we offer our sincere apologies.”

He turns back to the group. “Geede!”

A recoil goes through all four of them as the figure with the mask steps forward, a white bandage wound tightly around his arm. Kid raises his crossbow halfway while Black Star jabs his knife towards the figure. “This asshole just tried to kill our friend!”

“A misunderstanding,” says the cultist calmly. “Please lower your weapons so I may tell my group to lower theirs.”

At his words, Soul looks beyond Geede and the cultist. More of the cultists carry guns than not, and they’re all pointed at them. Next to him, Maka speaks in a sharp whisper to Kid and Black Star. “Put them down!”

Kid lowers his crossbow, but Black Star glares at the cult before closing his switchblade and putting it in his pocket.

“Thank you,” says the cultist politely. “Now as I was saying, Geede was trying to bring your friend to us when you intervened, understandably so, after what occurred a few hours ago.” He gestures to Geede. “It was also Geede who has been bothering you throughout the week, and for that, he would like to apologize.”

Soul’s eyes go to the masked cultist, but Geede says nothing, only nodding stiffly.

“There,” says the unnamed cultist. “We can start fresh now.”

Maka interrupts, and there is a strain in her voice as she tries to keep her patience. “Can you get to your point?”

The cultist’s tone turns apologetic. “I’m afraid I have to start from the beginning to get to my point,” he says. “Perhaps we should start with names. Mine is Dave.”

No one on Soul’s side offers their names; they only stare at the cultists across the way.

“Obviously, Dave is not my real name,” says Dave after a moment. “But it’s good to be able to address someone by a name.”

Out of the corner of his mouth, Black Star mutters to Kid, “Can you just shoot them?”

“I don’t have enough bolts,” answers Kid back just as quietly.

“I know you must be wondering how a small town like Shibunsen Springs ended up housing a group like this,” he says, gesturing to the other cultists. “But it’s all for your benefit, I assure you.”

Soul surprises them, even himself, by laughing loudly. The cultist called Geede appears to bristle at this, but there is pressure building at the back of his head, and he finds he doesn’t care. “By killing people?” he asks.

“Not killing people,” exclaims Dave as other hooded figures nod in assent. “It is an honor to be a sacrifice for the Black Goat.”

He gestures to the hole in front of them with a flourish. “It was here, many decades ago, that our founder Ed Skudder and his mining partner Jim came across the home of the Black Goat,” he says. “Ed was fortunate, but Jim was not so lucky. He fell in the Hole at the End of Everything, and according to Skudder, never hit the bottom. He may still be falling today.”

Soul glances at the others, who are listening to Dave with a mixture of disgust and reluctant curiosity.

“The Black Goat began to speak to Ed,” continues Dave. “It promised that It would never let the town disappear so long as he provided sacrifices for It to consume. Ed, in his infinite wisdom, saw a day when the mines would close, and he agreed. And thus, our circle was born.”

“So you’ve been throwing people in there for decades?” Maka’s voice shakes as she speaks, pointing at the cult, and Soul is suddenly grateful she’s not holding the crossbow. “That’s not how you keep a town alive!”

“Oh, no you misunderstand me,” Dave says, putting a hand to his chest. “Ed Skudder only had one rule, and that was to only take those who would not be missed. It is only in desperate times that we turn to town residents. We have only taken three residents from Shibunsen Springs in our history, and one of them was not a native.”

“You’re all delusional,” Kid says flatly, speaking to the cult for the first time. “If a town is meant to survive, it will, but if it’s surrounded by an environment that won’t allow it to, it’ll eventually die out, no matter what anyone does.”

Dave shakes his head. “I know you do not see it now. I admit, it was hard for me to see in the beginning, too.”

“Who were the people you took from Shibunsen Springs?” demands Black Star suddenly. “You said there were three. Who were they?”

“One was taken well before I joined, so I do not their name,” Dave answers. “The others were more recent. Their names were Meme and Jackie, I believe.”

It was exactly what they speculated less than four hours ago, but having the truth confirmed knocks the wind out of Soul as he looks back to the hole, a distant roaring in his ears. He’s not sure if it comes from the hole or himself, but it doesn’t matter. He can’t even remember the last thing he said to Jackie. There hadn’t been the chance to talk properly right before the recital, and it had been a mess afterwards. 

Black Star finally explodes. “You’re all trash!” he yells as he wrenches the crossbow from Kid, and takes aim at Dave. “Do you know how many lives you’ve ruined?”

“It’s a small price to pay for our town’s survival,” Dave answers, unruffled by the crossbow pointing directly at him. “I believe I already warned you about the weapons.”

“Put it down,” Maka says, turning to Black Star while Kid talks quietly in his ear. She pushes down on his arm when he doesn’t respond, looking at the cultists who have their guns raised. “Do you want all of us to die too?” 

Kid says something else in a low voice to Black Star; all Soul catches is “please”, but whatever he said must have connected with Black Star, because he allows Kid to take the crossbow from his hands without resisting. Breathing deeply, he leans on Kid, glaring at the cult.

“Very good.” Dave says. “Now, we come to our proposal.”

“Proposal?” Maka repeats in revulsion. “What proposal?”

“As you may have heard last night, our numbers are growing smaller as more and more people leave town,” Dave begins. “You were all born and raised in Shibunsen Springs. That makes you the perfect candidates to carry on our purpose.”

A sharp, tense silence falls in the tunnel as Dave’s words sink in. Soul stares at him like he had suddenly grown a second head. “You want us to join you?”

“Nothing more, and nothing less,” he answers. “You’d be the perfect start to a new generation.”

“That is-” Soul searches for a word that fully encompasses his disgust.

“Vile,” Maka finishes. “Depraved.”

“Flat out crazy,” agrees Black Star while Kid nods.

“All of that,” says Soul.

“It does take some time for the offer to grow on you,” Dave says. Next to him, a noise like a scoff comes from Geede. “And we’ll give you that.” 

“You’re letting us go?” Maka says incredulously.

“You need some time to think on it.” He raises a finger. “However, remember that there are more of us here than you. Anyone in town might be one of us, so it would be best if you kept what you’ve heard here among yourselves.”

There’s a pause, and then Maka and Kid glance at each other. “We understand what you’re saying,” replies Maka, grabbing Soul’s arm while Kid pushes Black Star towards the elevator. “We’re leaving now.”

“Don’t take too long to think about it,” calls Dave from behind them. Soul looks over his shoulder at the hole, supposedly the home of the Black Goat. He doesn’t know if anything Dave said about Ed Skudder is true, but what he does know is that whatever is calling to him in his head lives at the bottom of that hole.

Kid ushers them into the elevator, pulling the lever and boarding quickly. Nausea sweeps through Soul as he leans against the wall; he thought he’d feel better once he left the tunnel, but his head feels like it’s about to split open. 

Maka is still holding his hand, but she’s in a daze herself. “What the hell was that?”

“Utter and complete bullshit,” answers Black Star as the elevator starts to move. Cupping his hands around his mouth, he crouches low to yell in the shrinking gap of the tunnel, “FUCK YOUR BLACK GOAT!”

Soul winces as the volume of Black Star’s words reverberates in his head, and Maka rounds on Black Star. “Why would you say that to a group of thirty people when most of them have guns?”

“They’re on the other side of that hole,” Black Star says. “If they’re going to come after us, they’ll have to get across first. Hopefully, they all fall in.”

“It’s still not wise,” says Kid. “I-”

“One of them can teleport.” Soul speaks up for the first time since entering the elevator. He stares at the floor, praying he won’t throw up. “The cultist called Geede is the one I saw take the guy on HarvFest and go through the fence. He also found me in the forest that way.”

“Please,” Black Star scoffs as the elevator opens up to the fourth floor. “Those people are just delusional, and think they have powers.”

“It’s probably something that Ed Skudder put in their heads,” agrees Kid. He allows Black Star to get out before following.

“I think that’s probably it, too,” Maka says, giving his hand a squeeze as she exits the elevator, pulling Soul with her. “May-”

Her words are cut off as a hand clamps around Soul’s leg and jerks him backwards. He lets out a cry as he tumbles back, getting a glimpse of Geede’s skeletal mask as the man drags him backwards, gaze falling to the cultist’s body, which comes up through the floor of the elevator.

Along with Soul’s.

In the space of an instant, Soul’s mind does a series of backflips as it tries to explain how his body is trapped in the floor of the elevator, but there is nothing to explain how his legs are dangling in midair while his upper body is firmly stuck above the elevator floor.

“Soul!” Maka seizes his hand, yanking hard, while Black Star grabs his other arm with one hand, attempting to stab Geede with his knife.

“Shoot him!” Black Star shouts at Kid over his shoulder.

“I can’t, you’re too close!” Kid drops the crossbow as he takes hold of the arm Maka is pulling, yelling at Geede. “Let go of him, you asshole!”

Geede’s grip on Soul is iron tight. He attempts to twist, kicking at the cultist’s legs. Getting a look at him up close for the first time, a spark of recognition rushes through Soul as he stares into the eyes peering at him in hatred through the mask.

One of Soul’s kicks strikes home, hitting Geede squarely in the groin. An enraged grunt escapes from Geede as Maka and the others manage to pull Soul’s body back through the elevator floor. He comes through the floor as well, wrapping his hand back around Soul’s ankle.

“The lever,” Maka yells as she continues to pull on Soul. “Get the lever!”

Kid lets go of Soul, yanking on the lever. “It’s stuck!”

“Pull harder!” Soul tries to kick at Geede’s face, but it’s hard to manage in the position he’s in.

“I’m trying,” groans Kid, and Black Star lets go of Soul to tug on the lever as well.

Summoning the last of his energy, Soul grabs the side of shaft while Maka continues to pull him backwards, twisting and lashing out with his free leg. His foot hits Geede right in the face; his mask comes off just as Kid and Black Star yell, “It’s coming free!”, and Soul sees Giriko’s face under the cultist’s hood just as he snatches his leg free of the elevator.

The same cannot be said for Giriko’s arm. The elevator drops suddenly as a cacophonous groan comes from above, slicing his arm clean off. Soul doesn’t see where it goes as the elevator lands at the bottom of the shaft with a gigantic crash of crunching metal and something else, shaking the entire mine and sending debris falling down.

Clouds of dust waft through the air as the sound of the elevator crash fades, and then Black Star speaks. “Are we all alive?”

“Yes,” answers Kid.

Soul puts a hand to his head, which still feels like it’s about to split open. “Unfortunately.”

“Me too.” Maka’s voice comes from below Soul, and he realizes he landed on top of her.

He scrambles off her, holding out a hand. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” She takes his hand, standing up. “Is anyone seriously hurt?”

“A few scrapes, but nothing more than that,” Kid replies while Black Star echoes him.

“Same here,” Soul lies when he feels her looking at him. He hasn’t felt this sick in ages, and he only hopes that he can make it out of here without fainting or throwing up. It’s all he can do not to press his hands to his head.

“Was that Giriko who pulled you in?” Kid asks as they gather together, looking at Soul. “I thought I recognized his face before the elevator fell.”

“It used to be him,” Soul answers with a snort. “I think his arm is around here somewhere.”

Maka glances at the ground around her. “Disgusting.”

“And no more than he deserves for joining a cult that murders people,” Black Star says. “Though it’s exactly like him to be able to do that freaky shit that Dave dude mentioned.”

“I think we should all examine that later,” says Maka, taking the lead. “For now, let’s go back to the main elevator shaft, and see if it’s still working.” She keeps a firm grip on Soul as they start to walk down the passage, which is something he’s grateful for, although he doesn’t know how much longer he can hold himself together.

“Apparently not,” says Black Star when they come to the empty shaft, ropes that were supposed to be attached to the elevator hanging limply in the air.

However, Maka does not appear to be deterred, holding onto the side of the wall as she lets go of Soul and peers into the shaft. “There are safety ladders installed in the shaft of every mining elevator,” she says, looking around. “Or that’s what I heard once in the shop when the mines were still open and miners came in for parts.”

She points to the left of the shaft, gesturing to somewhere Soul can’t see from where he’s leaning heavily against a wall. “There they are.”

“Oh thank fuck,” says Black Star, poking his head in to look at the ladder. “I would have died if you said we were stuck down here.”

“Kind of like those cultists,” observes Kid as he joins them.

A brief silence falls as they all glance at each other.

“Fuck ‘em,” says Black Star with a shrug. “Maybe they’ll push each other into the home of the Black Goat to try to save themselves.”

“That would be the best thing,” Kid agrees. He looks back at the shaft. “Now, the question is who wants to out on the ladder first?”

“I will,” Black Star volunteers immediately. To Soul, he says, “Or do you want to go first?”

“I have a confession.” Soul’s words come out as a gasp as his resistance crumbles, and he presses his palms to his temples, which only makes his head throb more. Whatever has been calling him has fallen silent, but he can feel it in his head, waiting. “I feel really bad,” he says, bending down. “Like sick kind of bad.”

“Do you need to throw up?” Maka asks, walking back to Soul and crouching next to him.

“I don’t know.” He lets one hand fall to his side. “My head just feels like it’s going to burst at the seams.”

“Do you think you can climb up the ladder?” she asks.

He shakes his head. “I’m not sure I can.”

There’s a loud kind of silence above him as he stares at the ground, trying to get his body to cooperate with what they need to do, while Maka, Black Star, and Kid engage in nonverbal conversation.

“What if one of us went for help?” Kid ventures out finally. “It probably wouldn’t take Marie more than an hour to get out here?”

“And if there’s another cave-in?” asks Maka. “Plus, if anything happened to the people left behind, the person who left would never forgive themselves.”

“True,” Kid admits with a sigh. “Then what?”

“It’s like what I said before we entered the mines,” Black Star says. “All of us go, or none at all.”

Soul raises his head to see Kid giving his boyfriend an impressed look. “Not much of a choice.”

“Exactly.” Black Star moves to Soul’s other side, looping an arm over his shoulders while Maka follows suit.

For his part, Soul throws his arms over their shoulders, and they move awkwardly to the edge of the elevator shaft. “Are you going to carry me up like this or are you planning on throwing me down like Giriko?”

“Hilarious,” grunts Maka while they come to the edge of the shaft. She and Black Star keep a firm hold on him while Kid stays behind Soul, in case he falls backwards. For a moment, she studies the shaft, and then she and Black Star look at each other and nod.

“Okay, the ladder isn’t that far away,” she says. “But you do have to make a bit of a hop for it.”

“I am no condition for hopping.”

“One of us will be on the ladder with our hand out to grab you,” Black Star says, pointing to himself. “And someone else could be below to grab your feet when you land.”

“That would be me,” Kid volunteers.

Maka measures the gap between them and the ladder with her eyes. “And I could be the anchor while you get on the ladder. I wouldn’t let go until you say so.”

Soul glances at the seemingly endless darkness of the elevator shaft. “This plan sounds perfect until one of dies.”

“If we didn’t get murdered by the weird cult or Giriko or the cave-in, it’s going to be pretty pathetic if we die because one of us had sweaty hands,” Kid says.

Aiming a feeble glare over his shoulder, Soul says, “That’s a great vote of confidence.”

“I try.”

“Can we get going already?” Black Star pulls his arm off of Soul, gently, and before anyone can answer him, he reaches around the elevator shaft and vanishes from sight as a dull thud resounds in the elevator.

“That was easy!” His voice echoes up and down the shaft. “A monkey could do this!”

“A monkey is made for climbing, dear,” says Kid as he takes Black Star’s spot. “Tell me when you’re out of the way.”

Black Star’s voice comes from just above them. “Go for it.”

Kid does not move as effortlessly as Black Star, but his movements are careful and precise as he clambers out of view. There’s the sound of his feet and hands catching the metal bars of the ladder, and then a moment later-

“I’m good.” His words come from slightly beneath Soul and Maka. “Send Soul over.”

“I just realized I never agreed to this,” Soul says as he lets Maka guides him to the left side of the elevator shaft. Something else other than nausea swells in his stomach as he peeks into the shaft again. “Don’t I have to agree?”

“Sucks to suck,” comes Black Star’s voice from nowhere. “Get on the ladder, Nightmare Eyes.”

“What he means is that we won’t let you fall,” Kid says from his place on the ladder.

“I’m sure you won’t mean to,” he says, his voice coming out higher than usual.

“I’ll be holding you until you’re comfortable enough to let go.” Maka squeezes his shoulder, looking up at him. “Okay?”

There isn’t much he can say when she looks at him like that. “Okay.”

“Good.” She pulls his hand from over her shoulder, stepping back to allow him to get a hold on the wall and grab the hand reaching out to him from the shaft as he begins to edge out. There’s a narrow platform jutting out between him and the ladder, but before he can ease his foot on it, he makes the mistake of looking down.

He yanks himself back, and Maka looks at him in alarm. “Are you okay?”

“Just practice.” He goes back to holding the wall, although it’s more of a one-sided hug at this point. This time, he inches out slowly, but he freezes before he even sees the platform.

_Stay focused, dear._

The voice comes from inside of Soul’s head, but unlike the other voice, this one is clear and recognizable. Glancing back at Maka, he asks, “Did you say something?”

She gives him a confused look. “No, did you hear something?”

“It was nothing,” he says. “Me trying to psych myself up, I think.”

“Okay.” Her hold on him tightens. “I’m ready when you’re ready.”

“I am.” Soul keeps his eyes on the ladder and Black Star’s waiting hand as he places one foot on the platform, reaching for Black Star while Maka keeps an iron grip on his other hand. When he has both feet on the platform, and his hand securely in Black Star’s, he calls out. “You can let go.”

There’s a brief moment, when Maka releases his hand, and Black Star helps him pull himself onto the ladder, that Soul thinks he’s going to fall, but then Kid’s fingers are clamped around one ankle and both of his hands are holding on tightly to the rungs of the ladder.

The voice from before speaks to him again. _You were always a brave one._

He has no time to question it, or his sanity, however. Kid pokes the side of his shoe. “We have to move so Maka can get on.”

“Oh.” Soul pushes this new voice, and every other voice, to the back of his head. “Right.”

Climbing up a ladder is a little like trying to climb a tree with no branches within reach: awkward, but not impossible. Soul is much slower than Black Star, making sure his hold is secure and his foot is solidly on the next rung before he lifts his other foot. Below him, Kid keeps a hand near Soul’s foot, and he taps the back of his heel when they have moved up several rungs. “That’s enough for Maka.”

Risking a look down, Soul gets a glimpse of Maka moving lithely from the platform to the ladder, and he feels slightly embarrassed at how clumsily he had gotten onto the ladder. “All good,” she calls from below. “Let’s get out of here.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” says Black Star as he starts climbing again. “Good riddance to this trash hole.”

“The cult made the mine horrible,” Maka calls as they move. “Not the other way around.”

“All I know is this wouldn’t have happened if Shibunsen Springs was a farming community,” he retorts. “You can’t throw people down a pit in a cornfield.”

“Maybe we should move to a place with cornfields instead of South Harbor,” Kid replies.

“Have none of you ever watched _Children of the Corn_?” Soul asks as he attempts to stay focused on not falling,

“I work at Bid-n-Vid, so yes,” answers Kid. “It’s a fictional horror movie.”

“After today, you never know,” he grunts. His headache, which he managed to ignore, is back, along with the nausea.

“In that case, I hope leprechauns are real,” Maka huffs. “I’d love to find a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow.”

“We should check a few rainbows after this, then.” Soul grits his teeth as he tries to drive out the lightheaded feeling from his body.

“I wouldn’t mind going on that adventure.” Black Star is much further ahead than any of them, voice coming out tinny.

Soul doesn’t reply, but instead pushes himself to go faster, energy draining quicker than he would have thought. They’ve been climbing for another few minutes when a wave of dizziness nearly breaks his grip on the rungs. Kid’s hand wraps around his foot as he narrowly catches himself in time.

Panic edges Maka’s voice as they stop. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t feel right.” Soul presses his head against the ladder rung, but the coolness of the metal doesn’t help. He glances up, and thinks he sees a lightening of the dark a short distance above Black Star, who is climbing back down.

“We’re almost there,” he says when he makes it to Soul. “It shouldn’t take more than a minute or so. Can you handle that?”

“Do I have a choice?” His head is swimming, but he sucks in a breath, calling up the voice from before. _You were always a brave one._

“Nope,” says Black Star, Maka, and Kid in unison.

He manages to roll his eyes. “Then, let’s go.”

But even with the encouragement of the voice and the others, and Black Star staying only one rung above him, it doesn’t keep Soul from feeling like he is about to lose his grip. His body is finally giving out after a week of him putting it through more physical exertion than he ever had, and not having a good night’s rest in just as long, if not longer.

 _One more,_ he keeps telling himself as the light from the first floor gets bigger. _One more._

Black Star moves out of sight as he clambers out of the shaft, his wild hair standing out in the dark as he peeks over the edge for Soul. “Come on!”

It makes a laugh bubble on Soul’s lips as he reaches the top of the ladder, a bad idea as he steps onto a similar in-between platform as before. He wobbles, but Kid has a tight grasp on his leg just as Black Star grabs his arm. “Oh no, you don’t.”

He pulls Soul unceremoniously through the entrance, and they both topple to the ground as Kid follows behind them. Pushing himself up, Soul manages to get to his feet as Maka emerges from the shaft. Behind him, he thinks he hears sirens, but he’s sure it’s all in his head, like everything else.

“I’m going to take the stairs for the rest of my life,” he says, backing up and trying to look at them all at once. “And I think they should abolish elevators.”

He is aware of how stupid he sounds, but before he can say so, a wave of darkness washes over him and pulls him under.

* * *

_He thinks he’s dead at first._

_The darkness is so much more encompassing than his dreams, than even his nightmares of the black blood, that he can’t imagine this place being anything else. But then, he supposes, if this was death, then he wouldn’t be aware of himself, or anything else. Unless something else did come after._

_Which, if death was anything like what he just lived, would suck._

_Eventually, he becomes aware of his body, and that his eyes are closed, although the darkness doesn’t lift in the slightest when he opens them. He scowls at nothing, getting to his feet, even though there is no floor to speak of._

_He tries to kick up and float away, like he used to do in some of his better dreams, but gravity apparently continues to exist even in death. His scowl grows bigger, and he finally speaks. “I’ve spent almost four years of being afraid of death and change for this?” He kicks at the ground. “Lame.”_

_A giant glowing pair of crimson eyes suddenly open up in front of Soul, their gaze piercing right through his soul. Letting out a cry, he jerks backwards, but the being is all around him, everything and nothing at once._

_Now he is floating, and he watches as the being rearranges itself, making itself fit into his field of vision, although it still feels no less immense. There’s something even more ancient in the being’s eyes than the Sky Cat, and he wonders if the two are related, but the question flees from his lips as he fully takes in the being._

_The Sea Goat. His eyes trace over the dark glow coming from the goat’s horns, and he corrects himself silently. The Black Goat._

_The Black Goat studies Soul in silence for far longer than the Sky Cat. Even though he has not heard it speak, he is sure it is the source of the voice he’s been hearing._

_When it looks like the Black Goat is simply never going to speak, he clears his throat. “Hello.”_

_The Black Goat does not answer him._

_He tries again. “You’ve been calling me?” he asks. “Here I am, I guess.”_

_Still, the Black Goat does not speak._

_He starts to get annoyed. “Do you and the others just like to have fun with humans and then be assholes when you actually meet them?”_

_The Black Goat does not immediately strike him down, or do anything at all, so he figures it’s not God, like the Sky Cat._

_“I just want to know why you’ve been calling me, what you have to tell me,” he says, deciding to bargain. “I can tell you about Earth, if you want.”_

_The Black Goat remains silent._

_Something in Soul snaps as those red, glowing eyes drill into his. “You know, I’ve had enough of the cold shoulder,” he says, jabbing a finger in the Goat’s face. “You call me here when I don’t know who I am, or what I want to do, or who I want to be for the rest of my life, and you tell me nothing?” Staring into the endless red voids of the Black Goat’s eyes takes an excruciating amount of effort, more than he’s ever expended on anything in his entire life, but he’s never seen anything through to the end before like today, and if he’s going to die, at least it won’t be looking down into the darkness._

_“I constantly wreck the relationships and things that might make my life worth living, that might make me worth something, because I don’t know if I deserve good things, if I deserve to be happy.” Being this honest after his conversation with Maka is like peeling away his skin all the way to the bone, but there is an electricity running through his body that pulls him out of the hole of apathy and helplessness he’s never quite been able to escape for the last three years. “I ruin everything I touch because I’m afraid the world will fall apart again, and it’s better to burn my own life down than lose everything again, and all I want to know is if things might be okay one day.”_

_He isn’t sure if the Black Goat is listening, whether it speaks a different language like the Sky Cat; there is no sign of comprehension or emotion in the being’s nightmare eyes, but he isn’t speaking to it anymore._

_“I don’t know what I deserve, but I do want to be there to see it. Experience it.” There is a tremor in his hands, but it’s not from fear or anger; he can feel everything, he feels alive. “Even if it’s bad, even if I keep on failing and I never stop failing, I want to stop being afraid and being my own worst enemy, I-”_

_He breaks off suddenly-he’s spoken so fast that his words jumbled together, and his heart is beating fast enough that he feels its thrumming in his fingertips. The Black Goat has not blinked or moved even once, but he senses a shift in the air, a heaviness that presses down on his body like a physical weight._

_Letting his hands go slack, he stares into the demon’s eyes with as much force as he can muster. “I want to live.”_

_The silence that follows is deafening. He doesn’t know if a moment, or an eternity, passes before the Black Goat speaks. When it does, all Soul can decipher is the melody that’s been haunting him since he came home, followed by a series of high-pitched screeches that makes a different kind of darkness rise up and sweep over Soul._

_“I have no idea what you’re saying at all,” he says before the Black Goat vanishes from his vision._

_“That is often the way with beings like that,” says the voice from the mines. “They’re awfully irritating.”_

_The darkness turns into the glowscape of Shibunsen Springs as Soul turns around, his gaze falling on Grandma Evans. She shrugs, cane in her hand. “I like to beat them with this when they try to talk to me.”_

_He rushes into her arms like he did when he was three, long before he became too stuck in his head to tell people how he really felt about them. She’s as solid as she was when she was alive, smelling exactly like the perfume she wore. He speaks into her shoulder. “How are you here?”_

_“I remember once saying that trying to escape death was about as productive as squeezing lemonade from rocks,” she says. “But a quick break from it or two is quite feasible.”_

_He frowns. “But I’m dead.”_

_“Oh, I don’t think you want to be dead,” she says, pulling away and looping her arm with his. Her hair is as perfectly coiffed as it used to be before she got sick, and her nails are her favorite shade of green. “Do you?”_

_His mind flickers back to the Black Goat. “No.”_

_“Good, I’m glad we agree,” she says, patting his hand. “It looks like we’re on Market Street.” He looks around to discover she’s right as she points to the end of the street, which is only a few blocks away. “I’ll leave you there.”_

_“This is a different Market Street than I remember,” Soul says, ignoring the pang in his chest as he glances up and down the street. All of the shops glow in soft, bright colors with their doors open, inviting them inside to look at their wares._

_“It’s how I remember it,” Grandma Evans replies. “I thought it’d be good for you to see how it was, and that everything has a life cycle, even towns.”_

_“I guess that’s true.” Her words bring up the memory of the last time he saw her, and he swallows before saying, “I’m sorry I didn’t stay with you.”_

_Grandma Evans’ tone is neither reproving, nor judgemental. “That was the first time something so big was asked of you,” she says. “Many people fail at that, but the important thing is that you learned.”_

_“I’ve mostly failed the rest, too.”_

_“More lessons,” she says as they reach the end of the street. “You’re still alive, so you have never failed completely.”_

_“What if I screw up so much that I dig myself into a hole I can’t get out of?”_

_“Didn’t your friends help you out of this one?” she asks. “You should continue talking to your therapist, and try talking to your parents and brother about your problems, too.”_

_He refuses to be comforted. “And if they get sick of helping me all the time?”_

_“I think you need to consider how you have helped them, too,” she says in a voice that is firm, but gentle, pulling her arm from his, and placing her hands on his shoulders. “Instead of just thinking that all you do is hurt the people you care about. If you work to give as much as you can, you won’t have to worry about asking for help.”_

_He’s quiet for a long moment, but only because he knows the end is coming. “I wish you could have been my therapist.”_

_A laugh falls from her mouth. “Your therapist has done a fine job,” she says. “Don’t forget to thank him.”_

_He looks up at her face. “For what?”_

_“You’ll see,” she answers, which is not an answer at all. One of her hands goes to his face briefly, and then she lifts her hands. “But I think it’s time for you to go home now, Soul.”_


	21. Home

_Lesson 21: Keep moving forward._

* * *

When Soul returns to the world, it’s to a series of soft beeps, hushed voices, and a warmth around his hand that vanishes when he tries to wiggle his fingers.

“I think he’s waking up,” a voice says excitedly.

“Really?” another voice answers. “But his eyes are still closed.”

Distantly, he recognizes that they belong to Maka and Black Star, but he can’t seem to move his mouth, or open his eyes, to confirm that he is awake. Instead, all he can do is wiggle his fingers again, more feebly than before, although without the warmth around his fingers that he assumes was Maka’s hand, they don’t even notice he’s moving.

“It could take some time for him to become fully conscious,” replies a voice that Soul recognizes as Kid. “He has been sleeping for over a day, after all.”

Black Star’s voice takes on the same steely tone it always does when he’s faced with a challenge. “Well, maybe I can speed the process up.”

There’s a beat of silence, then both Maka and Kid yell, “No!” as Soul feels Black Star open his eyelids. Soul’s vision blurs as he gets a glimpse of Black Star’s face peering demandingly at him “Wake up, already!”

He recoils back on instinct, but he’s already lying on his back and can’t go back any further. Black Star’s face disappears as he’s yanked back by an unseen force. There’s noise of a small commotion as Maka growls, “You idiot!”

“I thought you wanted him to wake up,” protests Black Star as Soul blinks rapidly.

“Not like that!”

The world sharpens into view the more Soul blinks, and he moves his head to see Maka being held back by Kid while her hands claw for Black Star, who dances out of reach. His voice comes back to him as he watches them. “Hey.”

Immediately, their heads snap towards Soul, and Kid lets go of Maka as they rush forward. “You’re awake,” she exclaims as she reaches the head of the bed. Her arms are half-raised, as if to hug him, but she appears to think better of it, reaching out to brush the hair hanging in his eyes instead.

Black Star, however, has no qualms about hugging him, and Soul is seized with the sensation that his ribs are being crushed as Black Star all but strangles him with the force of his hug. “We thought you were dead, dude!”

“I’m going to be, if you don’t let go of me,” he wheezes.

Kid is the one to haul Black Star off this time. “Soul’s parents are going to kick us out of the room if we make their son black out as soon as he wakes up.”

“Sorry,” says Black Star, repentant, while Soul blurts out, “My parents are here?”

“They are,” Maka answers, breaking off the glare she was aiming at Black Star to look back at Soul. She goes back to brushing back his hair, which prompts Black Star to waggle his eyebrows at him. “So is Wes. They went down to the cafeteria a while ago. Do you want to see them?”

Resolutely ignoring Black Star, he nods with some difficulty, and Kid says, “I’ll get them.”

“Wait,” says Soul as Kid heads to the door, and he waits until Kid turns back around to speak. “What do they know?” he asks. “Did you tell them the truth?”

Black Star snorts. “Oh yes, we told them all about the cult that tried to murder us twice in one night,” he says. “Definitely went into details about Giriko’s freaky powers, too.”

“I’ll take that as a no.” He shifts himself up as subtly as he can, uncomfortable with being stared at while he lies flat on the hospital bed. However, Maka sees right through him, and presses the button on the side of his bed that pushes the upper half up. “Thanks,” he says when he’s been raised to a sitting position. He glances from her to the others. “So, what did you tell them, then?”

“We were playing hide and seek in the mines when we accidentally set off a cave-in, and you hit your head on a wooden beam that fell,” Maka answers. “We carried you through the tunnels while we searched for the mine entrance.”

“Wow,” he says after a moment. “I would have believed that.”

“I came up with it,” Kid answers with a hint of pride in his voice. “I’m glad you found it believable.”

“Very believable.” Soul pauses as his body fully registers the fact that he is awake, bitterly protesting the fact by sending a wave of exhaustion through his head. He fights against it as something about his current situation nags at him. It finally comes to him when he looks down and spies the hospital band around his wrist.

Soul looks up at the three. “How did we get here?” he asks, looking around the room, which definitely does not belong to the tiny clinic on Market Street. “Where is here?”

“We’re at the general hospital in Eibon,” replies Maka, exchanging a glance with Black Star and Kid. “The police were already outside the mine when we made it out of the elevator shaft.”

“Marie said that a weird-sounding dude who said he was your therapist called her on her personal phone,” tacks on Kid. “He told her he got the number from your brother, but apparently it took him a while to convince her that he wasn’t a prank caller.”

“Stein?” Soul’s mind whirls as he thinks back to his conversation he had with Stein. He hardly remembers what he said, much less what he could have possibly told Stein that would have tipped him off to the mines.

“That’s what he said his name was when he met us at the hospital,” Maka confirms.

“He doesn’t look like a therapist at all, either,” interjects Black Star. “Have you seen those scars? He’s totally killed someone.”

“He is also in the waiting room down the hall,” Kid says mildly. “So, perhaps we should lower our voices.”

“Marie is also here.” Maka throws a glance to the door behind her. “If we go get your parents, they’re probably going to come in, too. Are you ready for that?”

“Yes,” Soul’s reply is automatic, which surprises him since he usually avoids people when he knows his interaction with them is going to be unpleasant. But after the dream, or hallucination, or whatever the meeting he had with Grandma Evans really was, he feels stronger somehow, despite everything that happened last night.

“Alright.” Black Star takes Kid by the hand, and they go to the door together. “We’ll be back.”

As their footsteps fade in the hallway, Soul gestures to the chair sitting by the window next to his bed, looking up at Maka. “You can pull that over if you wa-”

His words are cut off as she kisses him, fingers brushing up and down his face gently. There is an urgency to the way that she moves her lips against his, as if to make sure he’s really there. He kisses her back after a second, falling into an easy rhythm, although the cloying fog in his head forces him to pull back sooner than he would have liked.

“Still very nice,” he tells her, which tugs a smile from her mouth. “What was that for, though?”

She rolls her eyes. “I told you we should do it again sometime,” she says, going to pull the chair over now. “I figured us coming out of a life or death situation was an appropriate time.”

“You were always so smart,” he says.

She laughs as she sits and takes his hand. “Thank you.”

There’s a silence for a moment as she plays with his fingers. “You had us worried when you fainted,” she says, gazing at their hands twined together. “It looked like you weren’t breathing for a minute.”

“I felt like I died,” he answers. He hesitates. “I think I saw what the cult was talking about when I was out. The Black Goat,” he says. “Do you think that’s crazy?”

“No.” She shakes her head. “I don’t know if there was something there before the cult formed, or if they built it up so much in their own minds that it seemed like it was real, but it felt like something really was watching us in the mines last night.” Looking up at him, she asks, “Did it tell you anything?”

“Nah, it was a giant asshole, but I figured out some stuff,” he says, waving with his free hand. He thinks hard about his next words before he speaks. “I saw my grandma.”

Her fingers freeze where they’re tracing a pattern in his palm, and she waits for him to collect his thoughts. “I’m not sure that that was real,” he says after several beats. “But it felt real, so that was nice.”

Maka is quiet for a long moment. “I’ve had dreams that I’m talking with my mom,” she says finally. “I used to dismiss them because they were just dreams, but those dreams had to come from somewhere, and even if it’s only my memories, they still came from her.”

“I like that,” says Soul after thinking through her words. “That’s a good way to think of it.”

Her smile returns. “I’m glad you agree.” She wavers before asking, “Did she tell you anything?”

“That I should be more open with people I care about more often, rely on them, and work hard so they can rely on me,” he says, thinking back to the dream. It still hurts to think of Grandma Evans, but it’s not a pain so big he has to bury it to survive anymore. “That being alive means I always have the option of becoming a better person.”

Maka starts to brush her fingers against his hand again. “She was always a very wise woman.”

“I think I’m going to visit her after I get out of here.” The words come out without him thinking about it, but they feel right.

A wave of conflicting emotions cross Maka’s face for a few moments. And then she says, “I’ll go with you, if you want.”

He blinks. “I thought you didn’t want to go back to the cemetery.”

“Yeah, but I shouldn’t be so afraid of ghosts,” she says with a shrug. She glances at him. “Plus, I won’t be alone.”

He closes his hand over hers. “No, you won’t.”

In the hallway, there’s a loud flurry of noise as footsteps approach Soul’s room. He barely has time to brace himself before the cacophony reaches the door.

* * *

Like Black Star, his mother nearly crushes him to death as soon as she reaches the bed, while on his other side, his father grips his shoulder tightly. She scolds him as she presses her hands to his face, but there’s no real bite to her words. “What were you thinking, going to the mines?” she says, inspecting him as if he hadn’t already been attended to by multiple doctors. “We always warned you to stay away from there.”

“And aren’t you a little old to be playing hide and seek?” adds his father, which earns him a glare from his mother.

“It was a dumb mistake,” says Black Star as Maka silently rises from the chair and joins Black Star and Kid at the door. Soul frowns, but she gives him a shake of her head, and he bites back his words. “We went further in the tunnel than we meant to.”

“I need to find a way to seal those mines,” says Marie, gazing down at Soul with her familiar disapproving look, although it’s softened by the relief in her eyes. “How far in did you go?” Next to her stands Stein, looking as impassive as ever, though Soul is practiced enough to tell that he doesn’t believe the story Kid told them one bit.

“We didn’t go past the second floor,” says Soul. He knows Dave said all of the cultists were gathered there last night, but there’s always the risk that he was lying, and even if he wasn’t, it was best to keep her from looking too closely into what lay in the mines, particularly the fourth floor.

“The mines seem like an odd place to play hide and seek,” Stein says, adjusting his glasses. “Particularly when you have all these trees around.”

“The woods are dangerous,” Black Star bursts out.

There’s a brief pause in the room as everyone stares at him, and then Kid says smoothly, “We’ve been in the mines so many times that it seemed like they’d safe.”

“Clearly, we were wrong,” adds Maka.

“At least some of you admit that,” Marie snorts. She sighs, gaze going back to Soul. “I already told your parents, and _yours_ ,” she says, looking at Black Star, “that we wouldn’t be pressing charges for trespassing, even though there is a clear sign on the mining entrance.” She glances at Kid. “And we already talked.” To Maka, she says, “Your father didn’t answer, but I know where to find him.”

“We’re all adults,” says Maka. “You could just talk to us.”

Stein speaks up again. “Yes, but I think Officer Mjolnir would like to make sure nothing like this happens again.”

To Soul’s surprise, a slight blush blooms on Marie’s face. “I already said you could call me Marie.” Then she seems to remember herself, and she says to Soul, “We’ll leave you to rest, but you should feel very lucky.”

Soul looks from his parents, to Wes, and then to Black Star, Kid, and finally Maka. “I do,” he agrees.

* * *

Soul sits on the makeshift stage in the Balloon Buster, listening as Maka fumbles through the first chords he had given her to practice. She balances the keyboard in her lap, brow furrowed in concentration, although she gives up after another few seconds, swearing.

“I can’t do it,” she says. “Instruments just aren’t for me.” She tries to push the keyboard back in his lap, but stops her.

“Yes, you can,” he says. “You’ve just got to stop holding your hands so stiff.”

“No, she really can’t, dude,” Black Star says, tuning his guitar on the other side of the stage, while Kid reads a book next to him. “I’ve listened to her try to play “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star” for almost an hour now, and she still sucks.”

Maka flips him off casually while Kid says, “We really should start practice soon. I only have an hour before I go to cover for Kilik.”

“I’ll come over to your house later and we can try again,” says Maka as she hands the keyboard over to Soul, brushing her fingers on the side of his face once before she stands. “We can practice without being interrupted,” she adds, throwing a pointed look at Black Star.

Soul rises while Black Star and Kid take up their spots, putting the keyboard back on its stand. “In the meantime, you can play on your version of a keyboard and work on your stiff fingers.”

She sticks her tongue out at him.

“Are you two going to start playing, or are you going to keep flirting?” complains Black Star.

“Like you didn’t act the same way when you started going out with Kid,” Maka retorts as Kid nods in agreement with her.

“What song are we going to play?” interrupts Soul.

It’s quiet for a moment, and then Kid speaks. “Over the Moon?” he suggests. “It was Jackie’s favorite.”

A different kind of silence falls over them, but then Black Star strums the opening notes of “Over the Moon”. He looks at them. “For Jackie.”

Kid lifts his drum sticks. “For Jackie.”

“For Jackie,” says Maka quietly, fingers poised above her laptop.

Soul meets their gaze one by one, lingering on Maka. “For Jackie.”

They begin to play.


End file.
